


Discovering Darkness

by TwilightDew



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), Incredible Hulk (2008), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Humor, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightDew/pseuds/TwilightDew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of New York the Trickster God is returned to Asgard by Thor only to be taken by the Chitauri. While Thor is determined to rescue his brother, the Avengers are convinced it's simply another element in Loki's schemes. But when they discover that something else was taken from Midgard during the invasion, they start to realise that nothing is quite as it appears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was with surprise that Loki stepped foot into his old quarters. In truth, he had not been paying attention to where Thor had been leading them, too lost in his racing thoughts to notice or care. But now, when he stood in the entrance and observed that the place had been kept tidy and free of dust, he had to admit that he was more than a little startled.

Loki turned his head sharply, green eyes falling upon Thor.

Where is Odin? Why am I not being taken to the dungeons?

He wanted to ask, but the metal gag still bit into his mouth sharply, and he had to be careful with his movements lest he bring pain upon himself. Nor could he write his question down on parchment, for his wrists were still bound in chains.

Thor stopped, and looked at his brother quizzically, waiting for the question.

The trickster rolled his eyes in exasperation, and rattled his chains in an attempt to indicate his inability to communicate. The thunder-god flushed suddenly, realising his mistake, and moved to close the distance between them. Loki backed away abruptly. Thor stopped midstride, his brows furrowing in frustration. 

“Brother, I am simply going to remove the gag”.

The younger god narrowed his sharp eyes, and lifted his angled chin haughtily, as if considering the proposition. He did not stop Thor, however, when the older prince mistook his stillness for consent and step forward.

It hurt when Thor lifted the metal contraption off his face, despite the gentleness with which the Thunderer attempted to perform the task. Not the terrible, searing pain he’d endured under Thanos, but an unpleasant sensation nonetheless.

“I am not your brother”, Loki spat out as soon as the gag was removed, reaching up to wipe the blood from his lips with his sleeve.

“Loki, -”

“Where is Odin?” he snarled, “Or does he deem me so very inconsequential that I am to simply be confined to my quarters, as if none of my actions were of any importance?”

“What? No- brother, you are being ridiculous! Father has never considered you irrelevant, despite what you presently seem to think of him.” The trickster snorted but Thor ignored him and continued, raising his voice forcefully. “If you must know, I requested to bring you to your quarters so that I may converse with Father on your behalf prior to your judgement.”

Loki stared at him. Then his face cracked into a maniacal smile. “What? You are going speak on my behalf?” he mocked. “Have my ears betrayed me? Have I finally descended into the depths of insanity?”The smile fell as suddenly as it had appeared. His voice turned menacing as he took a threatening step towards the crown prince, his manner one of a snake stalking its prey. “What words could you possibly speak that I would want uttered from your tongue on my behalf? You, the false sibling, who has always denied me everything and given me nothing in return. Who bound and gagged me in front of mortals. The idiot,” and now he scoffed with derisive scorn, “who can barely string two coherent words together let alone form full sentences! You are more likely to talk me to my certain death than save me from the All-Father’s punishment.”

Thor stared at his brother in shock. “Loki, why do you say such hurtful things?” he stepped forward towards the younger prince, “what has happened to you that you must lash out so?”

Loki scowled. This was not going the way he had hoped. What he needed was for Thor to get angry. What he needed was to goad Thor into an argument, for Thor to shout, for Thor to leave. But the Thunder God was being so... considerate. Loki could feel his panic starting to rise. He’d managed to keep it under tight wraps for the last few days, but slowly it had built. They had kept him too long – Thor had dallied too long – on Midgard, in that blasted glass cell. And as the hours had ground by, the Trickster could feel The Other getting closer, the inextricable link that had been forcibly burned into his mind gradually becoming taut, as if someone was slowly scaling the rope, bringing with them the promise of things far worse than he wanted to lend consideration to. 

He was running out of time.

“Do not touch me!” Loki snarled, jerking out of his not-brother’s reach. “Perhaps I have always been this way, only you were too dull witted to see it! I am Jötunn, after all, the stuff of nightmares! Have you ever considered that I simply wanted to be true to my nature? Ruling the humans is what the Jötunns do. It’s in my blood you ridiculous oaf! Do not think for an instant that this is the end of my plans for your pathetic Midgard, Thor,” he snarled, “I will bring that whole wretched place to its very knees. I will bathe the soil in blood so deep that it will stain the seas, I will set the sky on fire just to hear those disgusting mortals scream as they gasp for breath, and then, when I am through, I will take your precious Avengers one by one, and carve their hearts from their bodies just to sate my pleasure.” 

The God of Chaos panted slightly from his tirade, and noticed smugly that Thor’s knuckles had turned white around the handle of Mjölnir. He felt satisfied; at least he could still incite the Thunder God to anger. His amusement was cut short however, as Mjölnir unexpectedly made a rapid movement towards his head. The Trickster’s eyes widened in shock as he promptly spun out of the path of the deadly projectile, ducking and bringing his arms up to protect himself as shards of marble exploded from the wall behind him and shattered down around his body. The hammer then made a sound like glass as it spun and flew back into its owner’s outstretched hand. 

“You will NOT speak such threats against the Midgardians again!” Thor roared, “For next time know that I WILL NOT MISS!” The golden prince turned abruptly on his heel and stormed towards the door. Suddenly he stopped and spun back to the stunned Trickster, arm outstretched, Mjölnir pointing at him threateningly. “And you will stay here,” he thundered, “whilst I go and converse with Father.” It was not a request.

Loki scowled as Thor turned and left the room.

Well, at least now he was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki wasted no time. Moving around his quarters with a deceptive ease, he silently cursed the shackles that wrapped themselves cold around his wrists, hampering his normally fluid movements and above all, his Seiðr. No matter, he thought, there were other ways to harness sorcery, and for once he was silently grateful of Thor’s poor attention to detail as the gag remained discarded on the plush floor of the entry way. The trickster smiled slightly in spite of himself, and in spite of the growing dread that threatened to spill out from the pit of his stomach and hamper his plans for escape.

As he moved swiftly about his quarters, collecting jars and herbs, a knob of wood, clay bowls and small candles, dried flowers, a stick of charcoal, and other paraphernalia that appeared to be nothing more than the fascinations of a child, he allowed himself to indulge in his musings.

To channel power in such a manner, to literally coax and soothe the undercurrent of Creation into his body using his deft hands and voice alone, was enough to send a shiver of anticipation through his lean frame. Using chants and ritual to weave magic was seen as vulgar and base by the Völva, a defilement of the subtle and delicate art of Seiðr possessed by the realm of women. Loki disagreed. Though he partook in its pleasure infrequently – for it was a complicated and dangerous way to harness magic – when he did he found it akin to seducing a lover. Reaching out gently, charming and teasing, though always cautious, enticing the very being of the Universe to unite with him, to let him carefully bend it to his will, as he in turn became drawn in, feeling the ripples of energy glide gloriously under his skin, possessing him and compelling him to respond in kind to the allure of its magnificence. It was no less that pure pleasure.

When he had all the necessary materials, Loki moved to setting aside the required space. Striding into one of the sitting rooms he easily dragged aside a few heavily set couches and a solid oak book table, pushing them up against the wall. Then, in front of the open fireplace, he set down a small wooden table and upon it he spread his previous acquisitions. Each piece was handled carefully and gently, organised so precisely atop the flat surface it was as if the space thus occupied was never meant for anything other than the articles the Trickster God lay down. Once done, slender fingers moved from object to object briefly, touching each lightly, as if by doing so their material presence would be assured. Eventually, Loki moved his frame to sit before the display, ever elegant in spite of his restraints as he tucked his legs beneath him. He extended out thin hands, chains clinking softly, palms held upwards akin to a religious offering as he quietly closed sharp green eyes, took a deep breath, and commenced the spell.

The ritual was not a long one, but nor was it easy. Using his voice and subtle movements he chanted, weaving power and meaning into the items set exactly upon the scratched wooden surface, watching as his perception stretched and lines of energy crept steadily into his offerings. Pushing carefully at the edges of reality he reached out further and further into the spaces beyond form, into the essence of Creation itself, coaxing with his tongue and opening himself to Its influence.

Suddenly the God of Mischief stilled, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. He strained his senses against their physical limitations, fancying that he could hear a voiceless song somewhere on the edges hearing. As he reached out, stretching himself out further in his wonder, something else reached in and he gasped audibly as Creation seized him abruptly. A haze filled his vision from the edges and he backed down, surrendering as much as he dared before the essence of Creation. It seemed of a whimsical nature to him, at once playful as well as ruthlessly dangerous, awe inspiring and terrifying in the same heart beat. It spun and danced around him as he attempted to unite it with his enchantments, always within reach but forever out of his grasp, and the disgraced prince would have succumb to mounting frustration if it had not been for the ecstasy that was spreading rapidly throughout his body and mind.

The lavish room seemed far from him now, as did Asgard, New York, and the ever growing threat of the Chitauri. His past nightmares and the actions that had arisen from them paled into the background, immediately forgotten amidst the rapture of Creation. He danced, it seemed, to a music that he couldn’t comprehend, his soul a willing offering, his mind stretched out across the Nine Realms. A light of unfathomable purity mingled with the terrifying darkness of ruthlessness as the Universe drew him ever in, slowly but surely wrapping tendrils around his being, prying open his perceptions to the brink of snapping.

It was this that immediately brought him back to himself; as his awareness expanded he caught the essence of Asgard and with it, his brother (and so caught up was Loki in his existential experience that he didn’t even notice his mental slip of referring to Thor as ‘brother’). That unmistakable scent of lightening and wet iron mingled with brilliant sunlight.

And suddenly he remembered.

Remembered what he was doing here and why.

Remembered the events that had lead him to this point.

In doing so Loki lost a little bit of his bliss, but the gaping hole of grief this left behind gave him something to grasp onto, and allowed him to painstakingly haul his mind back to his body. The God of Lies fancied he could feel Creation baulk in ire briefly, but still the connection remained tight. And so he set about completing the spell.


	3. Chapter 3

Thor frowned as he walked back to his wayward brother’s living quarters. His conversation with the All-Father had not been a particularly resounding success, but at least Odin had been convinced to converse with Loki in private prior to hauling the Trickster to face justice. This had been in no small part due to the ultimatum issued forth by Frigga, who had no less than demanded to see her youngest son immediately. Not even Odin dared argue her tone.

And so the three of them now made their way towards the north corner of the palace, retinue of guards in attendance. 

It was Frigga who first recognised that something was not right. She stopped suddenly in her tracks, her striking figure held rigid and straight against the brilliance of the noon sun that streamed its rays down through the ceiling-high casement at the end of the hall. “Loki”, she breathed, her tone alarmed.

That was enough for Thor, and for Odin too evidently, as both men broke into a dead run simultaneously, closing the distance to the Trickster’s rooms in a mere manner of heartbeats. 

The God of Thunder arrived first, slamming open the large ornate doors that gave access to the entrance hall. The room beyond was quiet, empty and untarnished save for the debris left by Mjölnir not an hour prior. Thor looked around in some alarm as the All-Father moved past him at a deceptively rapid pace. The Thunderer took a breath, ready to call his brother’s name but Odin silenced him sharply. Suddenly still in the middle of the room, the All-Father was poised as if for battle, his left hand raised to still the tongue of his eldest whilst his right was clenched tight around Gungnir. 

That’s when the quiet sound reached them. A muffled cry, filled with terror, coming from the direction of one of the sitting rooms. 

The two warriors did not need to hear it twice, and in unison they moved. 

In but a moment they reached the source of the noise, the door to the room resting slightly ajar yet enough to reveal the signs of an ongoing struggle within. This time it was Odin who burst through entrance first, the thick door all but erupting off its frame. The room beyond was in disarray. Dried herbs and the remains of desiccated petals lay scattered across the floor, two clay bowls were shattered, much of their remnants embedded in a nearby wall, and a small plain table was upturned near the fireplace. A fire with an unnatural heat, flickering blue and green, raged through the middle of the space, the waxy residue of candles bubbling and running in rivulets beneath its onslaught.

It was not the state of the room, however, that caught Thor’s eye. What grabbed his full attention instead was the sight of his younger brother struggling wildly, caught in the arms of a large Chitauri. The beast was dragging Loki steadily through some sort of portal, one long sinuous arm wrapped vice-like around the Trickster’s waist, catching his arms and pinning them to his thrashing body via use of the shackles wrapped around his wrists, the other planted firmly over the god’s mouth and nose, preventing him from drawing breath. 

Loki’s eyes were wide, frightened, and more than a little pissed off as he resisted his would-be captor. Thor lunged, arm outstretched, and the same green eyes filled with hope suddenly. But it was too late, for in one final swift motion the Chitauri hauled Loki through the swirling vortex and the last thing the God of Thunder saw was the raised arm of a malevolently grinning Chitauri, face half cowled, adorned in the battle armour of a general, as it snapped its malformed hand into a tight fist and the threshold collapsed abruptly.


	4. Chapter 4

Thor stumbled as the whirling vortex vanished. Looking around wildly he lifted Mjölnir, his knuckles white as he spun around to where the portal had been. “Loki, no-! Father, open it!” the Lord of Lightening insisted, his movements agitated as his face betrayed his rage and panic.

 

“I cannot, my son” Odin replied quietly, his weathered hands gripping Gungnir tightly.

 

“ _No, you lie! Open it!”_ Thor bellowed, taking a step towards the All-Father, Mjölnir raised in accusation.

 

“ _I cannot!”_

 

Thor roared wordlessly. He turned and heaved Mjölnir in fury at the wall. This time, marble did not merely rain down as it had in his altercation with his brother, but instead exploded outwards in a cacophony of sound as the hammer pulverised the entire structure and continued on into the room beyond. There was a short series of detonations as the silver weapon sailed through each wall in turn and finally exited the Palace.

 

A deathly silence fell then, punctuated only by the noise of stones slowly collapsing in on themselves in the north east corner.

 

The Thunder God breathed slowly and harshly, clenching and unclenching his fists as he willed his thudding heart to still. Finally he turned, and met the eye of Odin.

 

“I cannot open the portal” Odin repeated, although softer this time.

 

“Then summon your Völva! Summon someone, _anyone!!_ There must be someone powerful enough able to open that- whatever it was!’ Thor demanded desperately.

 

Odin opened his mouth to answer but was silenced by a soft movement by the door. “Odin, put out the fire first,” came Frigga’s low, yet firm instruction.

 

It was then that the two men seemed to realise the mage-fire that raged around them still, spreading slowly up the walls and over the ceiling, licking at the curtains and threatening to engulf the entire room in a searing heat. Odin started momentarily, his face wearing an expression of startled realisation as he found his armour-clad feet were now attended by blue-green flames. Lifting Gungnir out in front of him, Odin issued a command to the room and instantaneously the fire gutted and flickered out, leaving smoking char-black streaks over the walls and carpet.

 

Thor’s blue eyes trailed the mess from the wrecked curtains back to his mother’s golden eyes, and said firmly, “portal, mother?” refusing to be distracted from the current focus of his attention.

 

“It cannot be opened from Asgard, as we know not where it opens _from_ ,” came his father’s stern reply. “These creatures, these Chitauri, seem to exist outside of the Nine Realms in the fractures between worlds. They are able it appears, to travel to places within the known. But it is not so simple to move in the other direction. I would need to appreciate where they are coming _from_ in order to understand where a portal so constructed is going _to_. Until that time, they are beyond our reach.”

 

Frigga began to move softly about the room, quietly examining the burnt remains of her youngest son’s aborted spell.

 

“Then what are we to do?” Thor questioned angrily. “We cannot leave Loki in the hands of those monsters,” he spat.

 

“And how do you know that Loki did not go with them willingly?”

 

“What!? You cannot be serious, Father! Did you not just see what was before us? Loki was clearly not trespassing into their realm by _choice_. _”_

“Be that as it may, but-” Odin was cut off abruptly by a sudden sound of shock that escaped Frigga’s mouth.

 

Both father and son looked towards the goddess then, who was presently bent low over some object in the far corner of the room, her smooth golden robes rippling in the afternoon sun as she moved. She raised her head at the sudden silence, looking to them with glistening eyes. Rising silently she turned, proffering the object that now caused tears to run unheeded down her flawless cheeks.

 

Thor stepped back involuntarily, and even Odin’s lone eye widened in surprise, for in her hand she held a long, keen knife, adorned in deeply etched runes that hummed with dark purpose.

 

“My son, my youngest”, she said, her voice thick with anguish, “meant to offer himself as sacrifice.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has given kudos so far! I hope you continue to enjoy...

Loki couldn’t breathe.

 

His lungs burned and his eyes watered, but despite his fierce struggling the Chitauri’s hand remained clamped over his mouth and nose like a vice.

 

He remembered seeing Thor in those last moments on Asgard, when hope had momentarily sprung unbidden in his chest, before his captor had near lifted him bodily through the swirling vortex that bore him back to that dark place where his nightmares took form.

 

Now, however, much of that was being washed away as an inky blackness crept in at the edges of his consciousness, accompanied by a vague sense that some malicious presence was watching him fight to breathe with growing satisfaction. His lungs felt as if they were being gradually constricted, the air steadily squeezed from them. At first he had attempted to ignore his inability to inhale, more concerned with escape, now however, his body jerked and convulsed violently as he was slowly suffocated.

 

The grip secured over his face grew tighter, and Loki’s brain began to scream at him _‘breathe! Breathe!! Inhale! You must BREATHE!!’_ It was all he could think of; the only thought occupying his mind was his urgent need to draw breath. His vision grew dim, and his body screamed at him that he was dying. He baulked violently at the realisation. He couldn’t die here, not in this place.

 

Loki had almost died before, but in the Nine Realms it had been different. Terrifying still, but at least he had been surrounded by... life. Here, in this dark fractured place there was simply nothing. A void filled with the absence of anything. To die here was to be sucked out into an expansive abyss, to be unmade into non-existence. Against _that_ he would fight with even the very last shreds of his will. He could not, _would not_ , allow himself to die here.

 

His eyes rolled in his head as the screaming in his mind reached fever pitch, as his body’s struggles to breathe gradually weakened, as the darkness rushed in to steal away his vision.

 

Without warning he was struck by something cold, hard, and extremely unyielding. His head rang with the impact, and he would have cried out if it weren’t for the fact that he was suddenly and singularly occupied with gasping the sweet taste of air deep into his starved lungs as the hand asphyxiating him finally yielded.

 

He lay like that for some time, gulping air hungrily as his head span in dizzying circles. Eventually, his racing pulse slowed and his senses returned to him, and he forced himself to even out his breathing and open his eyes.

 

He did not like what he saw.

 

Presently he was lying, having been unceremoniously dropped, on the damp cold stones of an all-too familiar room, the walls of which seemed to close in on him and which smelt like old blood, vomit, and fear. He knew whose blood it was too.

 

Loki started as if slapped, and in an instant was on his feet, ever supple and precise in his movements, backing away, snarling like a cornered animal.

 

Chitauri surrounded him on all sides, but there was only one that kept the god’s attention.

 

Standing directly in front of the captive god, dressed in the armour of a general, face half cowled, and mouth twisted into the pretence of a smile, was a nightmare the Trickster had desperately hoped never to encounter again. The Other merely watched him for a moment as one would watch prey. Then, smile widening to show sharp teeth he hissed, “Welcome home, Loki of Asgard”.


	6. Chapter 6

Thor paced the length of the royal suite, his heavy boots echoing off the marble walls. His hands were balled into tight fists and his face was set into a mask of deep concern. Momentarily he paused, running a large hand through tangled hair as if to quell a rising panic before commencing his pressured strides once more.

 

“Thor,” Odin snapped gruffly, “I would have you desist your incessant pacing.”

 

The Thunder God’s head snapped up. Frowning, he stared at his father as if he did not truly see him. Seeming to consider the request temporarily he halted for but a passing moment before once again resuming his restless movements.

 

 “Thor!” Odin bellowed.

 

Immediately the crown prince rounded on his father. “WHAT?” he yelled. “What would you have me do, Father!? First you command me not to search for Loki, then you silence me when I would send for the Völva! Now you instruct me to stand still, well _enough!_ ” Thor accentuated his assertion by slamming his fist into a nearby wall. “You would do well to remember that I am _your son_ , that I am the crown prince of Asgard, and that I will not simply stand idly by whilst my brother is in danger!”

 

Odin’s single eye blazed and he opened his mouth to answer his son’s temper with a sharp retort. Unexpectedly however, his disposition shifted and instead the All-Father snapped his jaw shut, muscles tensing as he turned, looking away from his eldest. After a moment he spoke quietly. “Your mother has requested that we await her insight into the situation. If you cannot respect my wishes, then you can at least show some regard for hers.”

 

An unpleasant silence descended, and Thor stared stonily at his father. “You do not care.”

 

The accusation stung.

 

This time it was Odin who rounded on the Thunderer. _“Of course I care!”_ he roared, the thick emotion in his tone betraying his previously stiff countenance. _“He is MY son! MY child! I care more than you could begin to understand and don’t you dare suggest otherwise!”_

 

Thor was stunned.

 

Odin turned from his son abruptly, moving over to one of the room’s smooth marble columns. Placing the flat of his hand on its cool surface he lent his weight in, seemingly for support, knuckles turning white under the weight. Thor could hear his father’s breathing, harsh and enraged.

 

“Father-” the prince began, but was cut off by a sharp gesture from Odin.

 

When Odin turned back to Thor after some minutes, the significant indent he had left in the stone column was not lost on the Thunder God. Cracks coursed through the embellished stone, winding a path around its circumference and up to the expansive ceiling above. Thor watched his father warily; Odin’s face was white but his expression was controlled. When he spoke, his tone was deceptively calm.

 

“Loki may be your brother, Thor,” he began, “but he is _my_ son. If he _is_ in trouble then I will not allow you to endanger him further by rushing off without information, without warning, and without a plan. Further, _you_ would do well to remember that we must consider _all_ possibilities, including that this may be no more than an elaborate scheme conceived by Loki. You will exercise patience in this situation, or else I will _enforce_ patience upon you.” He paused. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

The prince maintained his wary stance but gave his father an icy stare. “Perfectly,” he replied evenly.

 

 “Why is so much anger being forged in this room?”

 

Both Odin and Thor started at the sound of the All-Mother’s soft voice. Looking around they saw her, face pale and eyes red, standing straight, tall, and proud against the outline of the doorway. Her tone sounded pained, but her expression was vexed.

 

She frowned at them. “Be mindful that this is a time of worry for all of us, and that we each require not only each other’s support and understanding,” at this she looked upon her husband, “but also patience, and the command of a calm mind,” she said, resting her eyes upon her son. “If you do not take care and look to these necessities then we may not find Loki at all.”

 

Both Odin and Thor looked abashed.

 

It was the All-Father who spoke first. “Of course your counsel is true My Lady,” he responded smoothly in formal apology. “Forgive us our tempers; our conduct merely arises from our concern, although we express it poorly.”

 

Thor nodded curtly in accord, and although the anger ebbing off the two men receded it did not fade entirely.

 

Odin walked over to where his wife was standing. “Please, tell us what you have found in your examinations,” he implored, ignoring his son’s hard expression.

 

Frigga passed her sharp eyes between the two of them, then, softening slightly she said, “come,” and lead them over to a large oaken table. Upon it she carefully laid the long knife she had retrieved from the fire-gutted sitting room where they had last laid eyes upon the God of Mischief. Its runes glimmered darkly, instilling the blade with an atmosphere of deadly purpose. Around it, she traced patterns with her long slender fingers, the air shimmering with her own touch of Seiðr. After a moment the space shivered and a mist swirled from the dagger, travelling upwards, tinged with a familiar green blush. Slowly, it spun into dense lines, gradually forming letters and then words as if the effort to do so was great.

 

_“Family,_

_Beware the Chitauri and above all the One they serve._

_It is not Midgard that they seek._

_I am sorry._

_Loki”_

 

Stunned, Thor gripped the table’s edge, the quarrel with his father forgotten as he inadvertently split its length with his fingers. Ignoring the resounding crack that emanated from the protesting oak, he turned to Frigga. “Mother?” he queried, his tone distraught.

 

“I do not understand much more than this, Thor,” she replied gently. “The blade is imbued with Loki’s Seiðr. He took great pains to infuse it with sacrificial enchantments.” She paused, looking at her husband seriously. “But the sorcery was sealed. His injuries were to be permanent and his death bound.”

 

It was Odin’s turn to look shocked.

 

“I do not understand,” Thor said, confused.

 

Frigga watched Odin for a moment before turning back to her son. Quietly she explained, “Your brother meant to cause his death at his own hand, formalising it as a sacrifice, although of what nature I do not fully understand. The spell he cast would have rendered his injuries unhealable, and his soul would have been permanently locked in death, unable to be retrieved.”

 

The Thunderer looked aghast at his mother’s words. “What? No! I do not believe you! Loki would never-” he broke off abruptly as his voice broke. Turning away from the wraith-like words that seared themselves into the open air, he took a few deep breaths, collecting himself before speaking next, “My brother is an Asgardian warrior,” he stated firmly, “destined only for Valhalla in death. He would not take his own life.”

 

Frigga and Odin exchanged glances.

 

“Thor,” Frigga said gently, “this is not a prospect that any of us wish to consider, but it may be that there was something else... something so unacceptable, it meant that your brother was willing to sacrifice his place in Valhalla in order to avoid its coming to pass.”

 

The God of Thunder looked unconvinced, but remained quiet.

 

“Perhaps this is what he wishes us to believe?” Odin offered sternly. “That his intentions are ultimately pure, in order to distract us from whatever his true objective may be.”

 

“You do not truly believe that”, the Goddess of Marriage stated flatly and quickly, acutely aware of her eldest’s sudden rising ire. “This blade was _meant_ to be used,” she continued before Odin could respond, “and the magic sealing it made sure that it could only be used _by_ Loki’s hand on his own person. Surely you do not mean to suggest that my Seiðr faculties are so unskilled that I would be unable to detect such a basic foundation as to the intention of a spell?” she demanded, her tone dangerous.

 

Thor held his breath, inadvertently taking a step back from his parents.

 

Odin, to his credit, did not drop his gaze from his wife’s eyes. “Not at all My Queen,” he replied in a deliberately neutral tone, “but as King I must consider the possibility that Loki is a threat, and that this is no more than a sophisticated ruse.”

 

“And as a father?” Frigga demanded lowly.

 

Odin gave her a pained look. “As a father, of course I believe our _son_ to be in the gravest of dangers and would do anything in my power to protect him. But I am not just his father, I am also his King, and King to many more also. I _must_ consider all possibilities,” he stated, seemingly unmoved.

 

Frigga waved away his assertion with her hand. “Your responsibilities as King are irrelevant before the facts,” she declared firmly. “Loki crafted this spell as a sacrifice. The runes he thusly fashioned are placed on the instrument meant for his demise in a manner which defies dispute.” She gestured gracefully at the dagger. “Loki meant to kill himself,” she stated with a finality that brooked no argument. “There is no elaborate ruse or otherwise contained within this enchantment.”

 

Odin stared at her for a moment. Then he shifted, a weight seeming to fall from his shoulders as a strange mixture of relief and anguish flooded his face. “As you say, My Lady,” he nodded in brusque acceptance. “Then let us accept that Loki is indeed in grave danger and that the threat must be great to imperil a God in such a manner.”

 

Frigga returned his look, seeming satisfied with his response.

 

After a moment of silence Thor licked dry lips, his previous anger all but dissipated, and looked to his parents.  “What of this ‘One they serve’?” he questioned.

 

It was Odin who responded, looking at his son with some concern. “I had hoped you might be able to shed some light on that proclamation? It was my understanding that Loki was working with the Chitauri. There has not been any suggestion of the involvement of a higher power.”

 

Thor shook his head. “I know not, father.”

 

Frigga pursed her lips then, looking grim. “Our suspicions are confirmed, however, by his declaration that Midgard was not what they ultimately seek,” she said, addressing her statement to Odin.

 

Odin returned his wife’s look.

 

Their eldest looked between them, anxiously. “What do you mean? Explain,” he demanded.

 

Frigga paused a moment, leaning her slight frame on the assaulted table before answering. “Your father and I suspected that the rule of Midgard was not the aim of the Chitauri’s invasion.”

 

Thor frowned. “I was under the impression that the Chitauri were attempting to claim the Tesseract? It was Loki who demanded the rule of Midgard.”

 

“And when has it ever been in your brother’s nature to achieve his goals via the use of something as loud and brash as an army?” his mother challenged. “Loki has ever dealt in the subtle, the delicate. He has always been clever, cunning, preferring to wield words and the persuasion of illusion than utilise brute force and might. This... ‘plan’ of his was disorganised at best, unsound at worst. ”

 

Thor furrowed his brows, looking to his father as if to gauge his reaction to this assertion.

 

“I must admit, I agree with your mother’s appraisal of the situation... and your brother’s behaviour,” Odin conceded after a pause. He pursed his lips and walked over to an oversized ottoman. Settling back against the opulent cushions, he continued. “There are a few things which do not make sense. “First, why Midgard? Loki is intelligent. He could have chosen any other realm, one with a more mighty people to follow him, or a weaker people even, who could not oppose him. Or one which was difficult for us to reach such that we could not challenge him for it, or even know he had claimed it until after the fact,” he added.

 

“My understanding was that Midgard was chosen in order to goad me?” Thor replied carefully.

 

“If Loki had wanted to make it personal, Thor,” Frigga said, “he would have simply brought despair upon the mortal, Jane Foster.”

 

Thor stiffened at this.

 

“Yet he did not,” Odin pointed out firmly. “And if I am to understand correctly, Loki did not even bother to seek her out, let alone harm her.” He looked at his eldest. “Do you believe the protections of the mortals to be so absolute that your brother would not have been able to locate her?” he asked seriously.

 

Thor stared at his parents. “No,” he replied quietly.

 

“That was our thought also,” Frigga agreed.

 

“Further, if a rightful throne was what Loki was after, why even bother with Midgard? Why not just retrieve the Tesseract and then have the Chitauri invade Asgard directly? Surely it would be the throne of his home realm that he would seek?” Odin said.

 

“Loki never wanted to be king,” Thor replied rigidly, his tone suggesting he’d uttered those words more than once.

 

Odin nodded his head slowly. “Yes, Thor, we know that is what he said. We must _consider_ however, the possibility that the events that transpired after his fall changed him. Although,” he continued, hand held up in a sign of accord as his son opened his mouth in retort, “I agree that such a conclusion is not the first I would come to, given the number inconsistencies that seem to exist.”

 

“Perhaps the Chitauri felt that Asgard was too perilous a goal?” Frigga suggested after a moment.

 

“But then what purpose was the Tesseract?” contended Thor, beginning to pace once more. “For surely they meant to utilise it to claim other realms, perhaps all realms even, as their own? That is something that would not have gone unnoticed _or_ unchallenged by Asgard. They would have been better off launching the initial assault at Asgard directly, before we were prepared for an onslaught, as we surely will be now.”

 

“You are assuming their leader is competent,” Odin pointed out.

 

Thor raised his eyebrows, “well whoever this leader is, if they are competent enough to make use of a God they must easily be competent enough to formulate a sufficient plan.”

 

Odin considered this. His brows knitted, lone eye deep in thought before saying, “yes that is a fair argument, Thor. It makes little sense to alert themselves to our attention in such a garish manner.” Odin’s eye gazed off into mid-distance, out of focus as he reflected the current line of conversation. “In doing so they have exposed themselves to the nine realms in a quite impressive manner. Where before we knew naught of their existence, now we are not only aware of it, but know of their antagonistic intentions.”

 

“Loki?” Thor asked hopefully, pausing in his movements.

 

“Perhaps,” Odin nodded his affirmation, focussing now on his son, “but we should not jump to conclusions simply because they sound pleasing to our ears,” he warned. “It may be that they are simply not competent in the art of war. Or that Loki _did_ seek the rule of Midgard and they were forced to submit to his demand for it in order to claim the Tesseract. Nonetheless,” Odin said, “these are certainly issues worth our consideration.”

 

There was silence for a second, and then Thor asked, “what more than that?”

 

Odin and Frigga exchanged a glance.

 

“Well,” Frigga continued, “that the portal could be closed so definitively does not stand to reason.”

 

Thor looked at his mother quizzically.

 

Frigga moved away from the table and sat neatly upon a nearby chair, its padding giving gently under her delicate form. “Heimdall reports that one of the mortals closed it, but as much as the humans are resourceful we do not believe for a moment that one of them could overcome Loki’s Seiðr in such a manner.”

 

“Except that the portal was constructed from Midgardian magic, by Erik Selvig himself. If he built the construction, surely he would be able to also turn it off?” Thor questioned, perplexed.

 

“Do you honestly believe Loki would allow such an event to come to pass?” Frigga insisted.

 

Thor frowned. “No, I do not,” he answered slowly.

 

“Nonetheless, we must consider the possibility that the mortals are indeed more capable than we might previously have given them credit,” interjected Odin.

 

“What else?” Thor demanded.

 

“There is one final thing,” Odin responded this time, his voice becoming tense, “of which I am most concerned, particularly in light of Loki’s message.”

 

Thor turned worried eyes to his father.

 

“The Chitauri were not just seen in the place the humans call New York City,” Odin said. “Heimdall has reported their presence elsewhere on the planet, in places hidden from his eyes. It would appear that they were searching for something.”

 

“What?”

 

“I not know,” Odin admitted, “but I believe that whatever it was they sought, they found, as they did not linger but instead left Midgard soon after, well _before_ it was evident that their invasion was a failed endeavour.”

 

“Which suggests that their prize was something they had planned to seek out before the invasion took place,” Thor surmised slowly.

 

“Yes,” Odin confirmed.

 

The three gods allowed an uncomfortable silence to descend then, each considering the words spoken and unspoken that hung between them.

 

It was Thor who broke the quiet first. “He called us family.”

 

“Yes,” his mother affirmed.

 

“And he said he was sorry.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And he managed to cast a spell,” Thor continued.

 

“Yes,” Frigga confirmed, carefully this time.

 

Thor’s face lit up. “So he is not without defences, then?” he asked hopefully. “The braces do not restrain his magic?”

 

The Goddess of Marriage looked at her eldest sadly. “No, Thor. The spell your brother cast was one wrought of voice and gesture. The chains upon his wrists still prevent the use of his native Seiðr.”

 

Thor looked disconsolate.

 

“Which is all the more reason for us to find him,” Frigga said resolutely.

 

The God of Thunder looked at his parents. “What is the plan?”

 

“Thor, you must return to Midgard. We need to know what the Chitauri took from there in order to further understand their intentions,” Odin replied. “Your mother and I will direct the Völva to search for the place the Chitauri occupy, including the identity of their supposed Master. Whilst I do not argue the import of Loki’s safety, these Chitauri have proved themselves to be a significant threat. We must know more of them.”

 

The crown prince nodded and stood, his face determined. “Then I will to Midgard immediately.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has given kudos for this story! It's wonderful to know that people are enjoying the ride thus far. I now humbly offer up chapter 7. I hope it's as fun to read as it was to write!

Loki crouched defensively, poised as if ready to strike, backed up until his spine was flush with one of the unyielding walls. The Other simply laughed, a harsh, jarring sound that grated on every nerve.

 

Loki suppressed a shudder. “Return me to Asgard at once,” he demanded hoarsely, barely managing to keep the panic from his voice.

 

The Chitauri General’s laughter stopped abruptly. With a sharp movement he was suddenly in the prince’s space, uncomfortably close. Loki’s head connected roughly with the cold stones behind him as he reflexively jerked away. “ _You_ are in no position to _demand anything,_ Laufeyson,” came the hissed reply. The Other’s voice was a deep rumble that echoed with the undercurrent of screaming metal, the words issued from his mouth spoken slowly, jarringly, and precisely.

 

The Trickster felt his fear rapidly engulfed by a rising indignation at the mention of his true parentage, and he straightened. Reminding himself that he was no less than royalty, he shifted subtly. As he unfolded from his crouch, the lines of his body proclaiming his regal status, he ironed out his stance until his bearing bespoke unmistakeable control. He lifted his chin slightly, narrowed his sharp eyes, and smiled in a cordial manner that did not spread to the rest of his face.

 

“And yet, I am the only one who would bring you the myriad treasures of Odin’s vault,” he stated smoothly.

 

The Other looked him up and down, expression tightening at The Trickster’s unexpected change in demeanour. Backing away from the God, the Chitauri tilted his head. “Would you now, godling?” he questioned, his tone dangerous.

 

Feeling some of the control in the room shift back towards him, Loki smirked to himself at the realisation that the Chitauri mistook him as completely helpless. It was true to an extent that with his wrists shackled, his Seiðr locked away, and the inability to physically remove himself back to the Nine Realms without their intervention he was somewhat at their mercy.

 

Somewhat.

 

Unfortunately for the Chitauri, he reflected, he was _not_ without his most powerful talents; his quick tongue and sharp mind. He realised that he would need to be careful, however. Despite his prowess in manipulation, he was still in a physically weakened state. He had not fully recovered from the violent attentions of that damned green monster, and since Thor had enforced the blasted manacles upon him he had not been able to heal properly. And there had been no way in Hel he was going to let anyone place their hands upon him in inspection, despite Thor’s aggravating insistence to the contrary.

 

Loki eyed The Other, pushing his contempt and rising dread down into the pit of his stomach. He would need to navigate cautiously if he wanted any chance of getting out of this Hel hole; he knew he was about to engage in an extremely dangerous game. The Other was a formidable being, sharper and more cunning than his words might suggest. He was also completely ruthless.

 

Nonetheless, Loki took the advantage.

 

“Of course, My Lord,” he uttered, his tone deferential as he tipped his head. “Out of everyone in Asgard, save Odin himself, I am the only one who can freely navigate the vault and bypass its security. It would be of no effort for me to retrieve the items you most dearly desire.” He paused for effect, and then, raising his voice somewhat said, “including the Infinity Gauntlet.”

 

The Other’s cowled head lifted slightly, his subtle shift in body language not completely concealed, and Loki smirked inwardly at the effect he assumed his words had on the creature.

 

His triumph was short lived, however.

 

“I _see_ that you have remembered _some_ of the Rules, yet it _appears_ that you continue to be _lacking_ in the remainder,” the General rasped unexpectedly, seemingly ignoring the mention of what was arguably the most powerful artefact in the Nine Realms. The unspoken command, however, hung palpable in the air between them.

 

Loki felt his heart drop, his carefully prepared prose dying on his lips. He fought the urge to stare in shock at his captor, as the weight of the words sunk in, the cruel tone with which they were uttered not lost on the Trickster. The realisation that this demand would need to be answered immediately gave him little time to adjust his strategy. Precise and elegant gears accelerated flawlessly into immediate motion as his thoughts streamed, rapidly processing the various alternatives. If he did not give The Other the ‘respect’ that he apparently expected then the creature would be quick to anger and Loki would have no further prospects for negotiation. If he _did_ yield to The Other’s demands, however, he would be rendering himself incredibly vulnerable, surrendering an uncomfortable amount of control of the situation to the General.

 

Loki realised that realistically, he had little choice.

 

Burning with humiliation inwardly, he forced a small smile of acquiescence to his face then dropped gracefully to his knees, and bowed down before The Other. With his legs folded beneath him, his forehead touching the cool floor, and his chained hands resting slightly forward, each aside his head, palms down and fingers splayed, he suddenly had the sinking feeling that he was somewhat more vulnerable than he had initially anticipated.

 

The Other made a satisfied sound. “Mmm, _better_ ,” he murmured.

 

Loki closed his eyes then, as the General’s tone washed over him. Fighting to keep the bile from reaching his mouth, he found himself desperately wishing to hear the sound of Thor’s roar and the blows of Mjölnir closing in on the tiny cell.

 

“Tell me the _Rules_ , Loki,” the General demanded then, the volume of his voice deceptively low.

 

The God of Mischief stiffened.

 

This was not going the way he had predicted. Yet he was now obliged to play this particular game by The Other’s rules, and unfortunately those rules demanded that he could not back out now. Not without serious consequences.

 

And Loki was not going to lose. He could not afford to.

 

He _had_ to get out of here.

 

As desperation began to take hold of him, the dark haired prince could feel a scream of panic start to rise in his throat. He struggled to maintain his composure, and his voice cracked slightly as he answered. “Always address my Master as such. Always address yourself and any other Chitauri as My Lord. Always prostrate myself before my betters. Always look toward the feet of my betters. Always answer any question promptly and truthfully. Never speak out of turn. Always obey and never question, My Lord.” Loki ground out the seven rules that had been literally and figuratively burned into his consciousness with barely concealed revulsion, feeling keenly the degradation The Chitauri General was inflicting upon him. The Trickster reminded himself again of the pleasure he would gain the day when he finally tore The Other apart. Slowly, painstakingly, bit by meticulous bit.

 

The Trickster could almost hear The Other smile in cruel satisfaction. “Very _good_ , godling. I would strongly _urge_ you never to _forget_ them, as you are well _aware_ of the serious _punishments_ such a _mistake_ would bring to your _person_.”

 

 _Torture, not punishment,_ Loki mentally corrected his tormenter with a mixture of burning fury and stark terror.

 

The General silently regarded his prey from a moment. Then he said, “ _so_ , you _assume_ we desire the _treasures_ of Odin’s vault?”

 

Loki frowned, the question leaving him confused. “Given your keen interest in the Tesseract, My Lord, I would surmise as much, yes,” he replied, not quite covering his surprise even as the damp stones muffled his voice.

 

“And, given your _spectacular_ failure on that count, _why_ should I deem your words _any_ more than empty _promises_ the _second_ time around?”

 

“Because I know Asgard intimately and can navigate it easier than Midgard, because the Avengers won’t be able to interfere this time, and because I have something to gain in return, My Lord.” The prince felt his body begin to protest the enforced position, his poorly healed injuries spasming relentlessly.

 

The Other tapped his malformed fingers on his metal armour thoughtfully, and Loki felt hope flicker to life in his chest as the General responded, “and _what_ would _that_ be, little _god_?”

 

Loki licked dry lips and replied honestly, “my freedom, My Lord.”

 

The Other laughed then, and the Trickster felt the fragile hope shatter abruptly at the sound. “You do not _enjoy_ your time here, _small_ one?”

 

“No, My Lord,” Loki answered hoarsely.

 

The Other exhaled another short laugh. “Well that is a _shame_ , godling, for _you_ ,” he said slowly, maliciously, accentuating each word, “as we do not _require_ any of the treasures _contained_ within the _vault_ of Odin. You may _not_ have done as _bidden_ and retrieved the _Tesseract_ for us, but we nonetheless _managed_ to acquire something far more... _useful_.” The Chitauri General paused for effect then, pleased with the way his prisoner recoiled at his words. To drive the point home he added, “you _will_ , of course, be shown our most _recent_ acquisition by your _Master_ when I deliver you to Him _presently_.

 

It was as those words fell from The Other’s mouth that Loki swiftly decided now was the time to break the Rules. In nothing less than spectacular fashion.


	8. Chapter 8

Thor wasted no time.

 

Taking the All-Father’s advice he visited the Holy Völva immediately to discuss a solution to the Bifröst-Midgard problem. Namely, since the Bifröst remained in ruins it was no easy feat to travel to Midgard, or any other realm for that matter. And the All-Father’s power could not keep being drawn upon for such a purpose, lest it send him into another premature Odin-sleep.

 

The Völva took the crown prince into their sanctuary to consider his problem and request. It was considered something of a holy place, the Temple of the Seeresses, and to be allowed entry was a rare honour. Some certain allowances were made for the Royal Family, of course.

 

The prophets watched him silently, with their too-large pupils and vacant eyes, as he spoke in faltering sentences. The scent of incense wafted through the air, smoke from the burnt spices drifting lazily in small twists and eddies. Large columns bearing ancient carvings rose in shadows to a ceiling his gaze could not reach, and coloured silks hung in the dim spaces, disturbed sporadically by a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere, giving the place a soft, ethereal atmosphere.

 

And so The God of Thunder found himself in front of the Alter of the Mystics, attempting to explain the issue of the Bifröst and its magic to the soundless oracles. Numerous times he had to fight the urge to turn to look beside him – to look to Loki for assistance – reminding himself that his brother would not simply be there as he always had to take the lead; to ameliorate Thor’s attempts at explanation.

 

Eventually however, the seeresses seemed satisfied and ushered him outside without any further instruction. He figured he was meant to wait. For what he was not certain, but he knew enough of the oracles to realise that patience was required, and more than once he had to repeat his mother’s words to himself – _‘..we require... patience, and the command of a calm mind’_ – in order to control his rising agitation.

 

A full turn of the sun he waited, pacing strides across the entry way, sitting occasionally in the alcove by a small fountain that tinkled with unnecessary cheerfulness, before the Holy Völva beckoned him back inside. He ducked under the veil of silks that filled the narrow hallway, a cacophony of spices filling his nose once more with their fragrances. Entering the sacred chamber, he fancied he could hear the quiet chiming of bells somewhere in the distance. The soft dusk light that spilled from nowhere into the space stole his vision momentarily.

 

Suddenly the beautiful Völva were around him, appearing out of nowhere. The thin, translucent tussah touching their bodies seemed to float over glimmering skin as if they were dancing underwater. Silently they stepped in graceful circles around his person, touching softly here and there, invading his space with dark eyes and searching hands.

 

Thor felt himself flinch from their strange dancing, at once aroused by their mysterious behaviour and alluring beauty, yet disquieted by the surreality of the situation. Gently, they herded the Thunderer in the direction of a raised dais, painted with ancient symbols of power. One of the prophets broke away from the group then, moving to stand on the other side of the raised platform. Stretching her copper coloured hands forward, she conjured a small blue flame from the air, placing it down to cast strange shadows across her flawless features. Thor stood, motionless, his breath trapped in his throat as he found himself caught in the dreamlike moment.

 

Raising dilated eyes to the prince, she threw her arms up, the soft silks rippling in motion off her shoulders, exposing her perfect chest. Without sound, the seeress caught the air above her head, entwining her fingers and bringing them together as she returned her slender arms to the dais. Then, opening her hands she revealed a small gem, shaped into a pendent.

 

Thor stared in awe.

 

It was glorious, nothing short of the very definition of magnificence. He fancied he was looking at the very essence of power and might in those perfectly smooth facets. Unintentionally he reached for it, utterly enamoured with its beauty. The Völva wordlessly allowed him to lift it from her outstretched palms, and he shuddered with ecstasy as honour and glory seems to poor into his soul from its touch.

 

Eventually – it may have been seconds, hours, days even, he could not be sure – he tore his eyes from the brilliant stone, and looked in question to the Völva standing before him.

 

“These memories contain all things. They are to be given to the Protector. Henceforth for return when they are reclaimed. Imbued with true passage.” He voice was like a mellow sigh on the wind.

 

Thor looked at her in confusion.

 

The oracle smiled then, the shadows distorting the lines of her face in a disturbing fashion. Without warning she passed a hand over the fragile flame and it flickered out, plunging the chamber into mid-darkness.

 

The crown prince blinked, and started with surprise to find the room suddenly empty. The seers were nowhere in sight, the strange chiming had disappeared and an oppressive silence invaded his hearing. Airy silks still hung from the ceiling but their movements had ceased, and the only thing to make him believe he had not just hallucinated the entire experience was the delicate smell of incense that lingered in the air... and the cold weight of a smooth gem resting in his hand.

 

Thor found himself filled with an unpleasant sense of unease, and slowly backed out of the uncomfortably empty space until he reached the archway. Then he turned, and, gripping the precious stone tightly in his fist, fled back to the safety of the palace.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the continuing support! I hope everyone reading continues to enjoy. I had particular fun writing this chapter :)

Tony Stark liked Malibu.

 

He liked the smell of the sea air. He liked the weather. He liked the relative privacy.

 

Above all, he liked the way his mansion was not a smashed wreck.

 

He had left New York, allowing Pepper to sort out the final details of the tower’s rebuilding, citing a need to ‘reconnect with his neglected experimental work’. When he had proceeded to pilfer the entire quantity of liquor from the ruined kitchen prior to leaving however, she had given him a ‘look’. He had responded by saying he was affronted by her obvious mistrust in his intentions.

 

And thus he found himself lounging on the balcony of his Malibu mansion, warm afternoon sun streaming down from between wispy clouds, lovingly nursing a bottle of 17 year old Eagle Rare Whiskey. Having just risen from a rather pleasant slumber not twenty minutes prior, he had not yet bothered to stumble into the shower, and truth be told he hadn’t really decided whether he was going to bother with the inconvenience today anyway.

 

As such, it was with much irritation (and more than a little shock) that he lurched from his seat at the sound of an almighty crash, which sounded not unlike splintering metal and wood, emanating from within his house.

 

“Jarvis! What the hell!?” he exclaimed.

 

“It appears that Mr Odinson wishes to speak with you, sir,” answered the AI nonchalantly. “He sought you out at Stark Tower some hours ago. I directed him here.” The discorporate voice paused as if considering something of vague interest. Then he said, “He appears to have unintentionally destroyed your front door, sir.”

 

“Seriously? Fuck you, Jarvis.”

 

Tony wasn’t sure when his AI had become so damn passive aggressive – he reminded himself to investigate the programming later – but apparently leaving Pepper in New York so that he could ‘hide away in California with his alcohol’ was not kosher. _Yeah?_ He thought in annoyance. _Well Jarvis hadn’t recently saved the entire fucking world by detonating a nuke in the middle of a god damned fucking alien armada out in the middle of fucking space. So who the hell was he to judge?_ If Tony Stark wanted a bit of self-time, then that’s what Tony Stark was going to have.

 

Or not, as it would now apparently appear.

 

Sighing and carding a hand through his tangled hair, Stark grabbed up his bottle and walked inside.

 

The God of Thunder was standing, looking at once embarrassed and agitated, amongst the remains of Tony Stark’s previously stainless steel reinforced front door.

 

“You could have just knocked, you know,” Stark intoned casually.

 

Thor gave him a pained look. “My deepest apologies, friend Stark. I thought the doorway to your abode was indeed unlocked as it gave easily when I attempted to open it.”

 

Stark blinked. Just once.

 

“Um, Thor, buddy, I think we need to revisit your concept of ‘give easily’”, he replied, using his fingers to punctuate the final words with air quotes, while casting an eye over the twisted metal and shattered wood.

 

“I am truly sorry.”

 

Stark sighed dramatically, and then gave the god a lopsided smile. “Never mind. I’ll just get Jarvis to clean it up.”

 

“Of course, sir,” came the even reply from his AI.

 

Stark could swear he heard thinly veiled annoyance in the tone, and his smile widened.

 

Thor, on the other hand, jumped slightly and began to raise a tightly gripped Mjölnir, looking around for the unseen assailant.

 

“Whoa! Alright Point-Break, let’s just calm down now,” Stark moved forward quickly, ushering the overly twitchy God of Thunder away from the floor to ceiling windows that lined the front entrance. “You’ve already caused _more_ than enough property damage for one day- no, scratch that, for an entire _lifetime_ , between you and your crazy-arse brother-” when Thor gave him a sharp look he said, “fine, _adopted_ crazy-arse brother, whatever. Look,” he pressed on, ignoring the frown that had now settled itself on the Thunderer’s face, “family tantrums and whatnot aside, I’m not sure why you’re here, and acting all bloody edgy to boot – I _was_ going to spend a quiet, unshowered day with my friend Whiskey here, if you must know – but now that you _are_ here I am most definitely going to need another drink before you even _think_ about telling me what in the _hell_ has possessed you to quite literally crash my one-man party, when you’re supposed to be tucked up, safe and sound, back home in Asraid.”

 

“Asgard,” Thor corrected him flatly.

 

Stark wove the amendment away with a lazy hand as he walked towards the kitchen, dark hair sticking out at odd angles, pyjama bottoms hanging loosely from his hips. “Asgard, Asdag, Asshat, I honestly couldn’t care less,” he answered.

 

“It is pronoun-“

 

“Ah!” Stark exclaimed sharply, lifting a hand to silence the God of Lightening. “What did I just say? Drink first. Talk after.”

 

A stormy silence fell then, as Stark fumbled around his cupboards, hands seeking a suitably large glass from which he could drown what he fully expected to be inevitably unpalatablenews. Carefully, he placed the tumbler on the marble surface of his kitchen bench, and began to pour out an overly generous portion of rather excellent Whiskey.

 

Thor cleared his throat.

 

Stark looked up and glared at the God of Thunder, who promptly fell silent. Then, with perhaps a tad more languidness than was truly necessary, the Man of Iron drank the entire 300ml of pure liquid gold in one slow, constant motion.

 

“May I speak now?” Thor enquired irritably, as the Man of Iron replaced the empty receptacle on the counter with a deliberate clink.

 

Squinting at the god, Stark seemed to consider the request. Then he said, “No need to get all tetchy there, hammer time. You turned up unannounced and broke _my_ door, remember?” Stark closed his eyes briefly as the alcohol hit his system, relishing the way his head began floating around the edges.

 

Thor had the decency to look rueful at the reminder, but pressed his point saying, “Nonetheless, I entreat you to lend me your ear.”

 

Stark laughed as he sauntered towards the living room. “Do all of you speak like that? Because if you do, it’s truly hilarious – no offence. Wouldth you liketh me to lendeth you some decent clotheth- clothesth- no that doesn’t really work, does it? What _do_ you say for ‘clothes’?”

 

“Man of Iron I _must_ speak with you! It concerns my brother, Loki.” The Thunderer interrupted, exasperated.

 

Stark’s flippant manner fell away abruptly at these words, and he sighed, dropping himself without any regard for grace into one of the leather chairs. “Why am I not surprised?” he muttered. Turning to Thor, motioning for the god to sit, he questioned in a tone filled with resignation, “what’s the little bastard done now?”

 

Thor looked displeased at his turn of phrase. “He is my _brother_ ,” he responded admonishingly,   
“and he has not done anything wrong. Indeed, it is he himself who has been wronged. He has been taken prisoner by the Chitauri.”

 

Stark suspected that Thor had anticipated his last sentence to have more of an impact. “So? I thought they were allies?” he replied bluntly.

 

“That does not appear to be the case.”

 

“How so, exactly?”

 

“My brother was taken by them, against his will.” When Stark gave him a quizzical look, the God of Thunder outlined the scene of his brother’s struggle and eventual kidnap.

 

When Thor had finished, Stark raised an eyebrow. “You know, not that I’m saying you don’t know your brother or anything, but, just putting it out there, he _is_ called the Trickster for a reason...”

 

“This was no trick,” Thor responded stubbornly.

 

Now Stark raised both eyebrows.  He opened his mouth to argue the point, but Thor cut him off abruptly. “He tried to kill himself,” he blurted, his face turning a dull shade of red.

 

Now it was Stark’s turn to look startled. “I’m sorry?”

 

Thor looked away, evidently upset, and said quietly, “my brother attempted to give himself as sacrifice, but the Chitauri took him before he could complete the ritual. We know not why he was endeavouring to offer up his own life.”

 

“I’m sorry, what now?! Are you telling me that your psycho of a narcissistic sibling – and don’t give me that look because we both know I’m right – attempted _suicide_!? The crazy lunatic who not two weeks ago was trying to take over the world, _my_ world, in some misguided attempt to make up for the lack of attention he apparently didn’t get from daddy-dearest as a child? I wouldn’t be lying if I said I’m not particularly convinced here, Thorster.”

 

The Thunderer looked at Stark sadly, as if he’d expected such disbelief, and said, “I swear to you upon my own honour that I speak the truth. My mother, the Goddess Frigga who possesses the power of prophecy, confirmed it with her sight. The instrument he attempted to use was instilled with the power of sacrifice, and was marked with complete surety for only that purpose.”

 

“Perhaps he thought death was a better deal than whatever punishment your father was going to dole out?” Stark suggested brusquely.

 

Thor’s face darkened. “Loki would never attempt to take his own life for such a foolish reason!” he responded angrily, the level of his voice rising. “My brother is of Asgard, and he is NO coward, Man of Iron, and you would do well to remember as much!”

 

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

 

Stark raised his hands quickly in an act of appeasement, and though he still wore an expression of nonchalance, his face had whitened a shade. “Ok, ok, I give, big guy,” he said, “just, please, leave my living room intact, yeah?”

 

Thor did not smile.

 

Tony sighed and poured himself another drink.

 

“There is more,” Thor continued, still irate.

 

“I thought there might be,” Stark muttered.

 

“The All-Father, All-Mother, and myself have discussed the situation at length. There are a number of outstanding... issues, that do not make sense regarding Loki’s apparent attempts at dominance of Midgard-” Stark snorted at this, but Thor continued, ignoring him, “but further to that, my father has informed me that the Chitauri have taken something... else... from Midgard during their brief assault here. Something they had planned in advance to retrieve. Something of great import, it would seem, given they managed to well conceal their activities from the eyes of Asgard. He has charged me with finding out what this item is, and from whence it was acquired.”

 

“You mean something other than the front half of my tower?” Stark replied facetiously, although his dark eyes had narrowed.

 

When Thor made a move to respond, his ire rising once more, Stark interjected, “yes, I heard you – serious, I get it, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Geez you’re cranky today.”

 

“I am merely concerned for the safety of both my brother and Midgard,” Thor responded defensively. “I do not remember twisting these ‘knickers’ you speak of, however.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’re doing a spectacular job of it anyway, trust me,” Tony responded, reaching for his third ample glass of Whiskey. Then he said, “look, Thor, truth be told, I’m going to be fantastically drunk quite soon, and this actually sounds important, so why don’t you hit me with the whole story as quickly as you can, before I pass out on the floor? Then, after I’ve recovered from my well earned hangover, we’ll figure out what to do. Ok?”

 

“Hit you with..?” Thor trailed off perplexed.

 

“Oh shit, no! I don’t mean, like, _hit_ hit! Jesus dude, keep your hammer in your pants!”

 

Thor looked affronted, “I do not keep Mjölnir-”

 

“No, I mean-,” Tony began, exasperated, “fuck,” he muttered, “just.. just tell me _quickly_ , ok?”

 

Thor’s face brightened somewhat, and wasting no time he began to explain the conversation he had had with his family, describing in some detail the message left by his brother, and what his mother had gleaned from the enchanted dagger. All the while Stark listened quietly, interjecting for clarification only twice, retaining as much of his awareness about him as possible until finally the warm feeling of alcohol washed away his attention and delivered him into the realm of amnesia.


	10. Chapter 10

It was perhaps not the finest laid plan, but Loki quickly realised that he was not going to be able to negotiate his way out of his current, rather dire, predicament.

 

Despite the fully flowering panic that now sat in his throat, the Trickster thoroughly relished the look of surprise that seized The Other as he sprung from his position of submission and punched the creature square in the face. He spat curses in his native tongue as he did so, intent on breaking as many of the vile Rules as he possibly could in one go. He felt a keen sense of satisfaction as he felt something snap beneath his fists upon their connection with The Other’s flesh.

 

The God of Mischief would have laughed at how the surrounding throng of Chitauri appeared momentarily stunned, if he were not singularly preoccupied with escaping from the small room. In their arrogance they had forgotten of his strength and quick command of movement, and he had absolutely no qualms about using both to their full advantage right now. In spite of his injuries he was still stronger than any mortal. He was still a god. And he was going to remind them of as much.

 

Quick as a snake Loki lunged past The Other. The General stumbled back, opalescent grey blood pouring from beneath his hood, clearly not having anticipated any sort of retaliation. Beyond him, Chitauri soldiers leapt to contain the Asgardian Prince, but the Trickster slammed into the first with his shoulder, sending the creature hurtling into his comrade behind. Ducking swiftly as the ringing sound of metal met his ears, Loki rolled deftly, the weapon which had been aimed at his head landing instead on the floor with a resounding crunch.

 

Then he was through the door, and would have claimed immediate escape if it weren't for the arms that unexpectedly wrapped themselves around his chest, crushing his upper limbs to his body. Loki grunted, flinging his legs into the air in an attempt to throw his would-be captor off balance. As he did, another warrior appeared in front of him, closing quickly to attack. Unluckily for the creature the lithe prince took the opportunity and slammed his feet into its head with a yell, knocking it out cold and managing to unbalance his captor in the process. The two of them fell backwards, landing heavily on the rough floor, Loki on top of the Chitauri violently knocking the air from its lungs. The Asgardian quickly flipped his shackled hands over his head, bringing them down on the creature's neck whilst using the momentum to somersault backwards and land on his feet, crushing the Chitauri’s trachea in the process.

 

By this stage, Chitauri soldiers had streamed out of the tiny cell behind him, roaring battle-cries and drawing arms. Loki wasted no time. He ran. As he rounded the corner, feet sliding under him a little as he plunged into the darkness of the corridor, he heard the fading words of The Other behind him.

 

 "Go. _Hunt._ Hunt him like the _animal_ he is. He has nowhere to _run_ to."


	11. Chapter 11

Loki had known that there had been more to the plans of the Chitauri... to _His_ plans... but during his excruciating captivity he had not quite been able to discern their exact nature. The torture they’d inflicted upon his body and mind had violated him in ways he’d never even _wanted_ to imagine were possible, and the memories still made him want to scream, and retch, and wail in anguish. But such invasions, like doors, open fissures that can be breached in both directions, and it was thus that Loki had been able to glimpse the true purpose behind their keen interest in the Tesseract.

 

It was not about the rule of the Nine Realms.

 

_He_ , and the Chitauri with Him, held only one desire. To deliver the Nine Realms, and every living creature in it, unto Death.

 

The very thought made Loki feel cold.

 

In order to achieve their goals, they had coveted the Tesseract.

 

But there was something more. Through the breaches, inflicted to cause pain and establish control, Loki had caught flashes. It had not been easy to make sense of it through the constant haze of torture, but the God of Mischief was just that, a god, and he was resilient. He had _forced_ himself to concentrate, using the information he was gleaning from the link they were steadily burning into his mind to separate himself from their malicious ministrations. What he saw, he did not like: images, meetings, something strange and powerful that filled him with horror and dread; another weapon, far more powerful and darker in purpose than the Tesseract; the sheer number of Chitauri soldiers they had at their disposal, far larger than the small contingent they’d seen – and Stark had thoroughly decimated – on Midgard. Lastly, and perhaps worst of all, was the disturbing sense that somehow he, Loki, had been _gifted_ to these monsters by a presence he could neither discern nor comprehend. Gifted for intentions so sinister the Trickster couldn’t bear to contemplate them; intentions that were tied inextricably to their plans for annihilation. In some perverse way, they needed him, the crucial element. But they didn’t need him to be willing.

 

And now The Other had mentioned an... acquisition.

 

Loki knew, without a doubt, that the General was referring to the second weapon. And he wasn’t about to stick around to discover what this weapon was, or how they planned to involve him with it.

 

So instead, he ran.

 

He ran, and the Chitauri hunted him like it was sport. He could feel the sweat beading down his neck as he fled silently through the twisted corridors. Ducking, turning, ever hiding. He could feel them on his heels, as if herding him, ever aware of his next move.

 

 He shook his head angrily. _He was being paranoid_ , he admonished himself.

 

Loki pushed onwards, even as his legs began to cramp and ache. He knew where he was going. He had but one goal in mind – the only way he could think of to escape.

 

When he had first been caught and imprisoned, by _Him_ , the stupid Chitauri creatures had unwittingly shown the Trickster much of the twisting, dark compound during their attentive cruelty. In spite of his suffering, Loki had paid attention, and he had _remembered_. Remembered how it was strung together. Remembered where the important points were. The outside was not much more than a barren, broken rock that circled a distant cold star, deprived of an atmosphere; a place they’d taken him once in an attempt to suffocate him into obedience. It had not worked. The inside was a twisting mess of dim rooms and dark passages, a number of which he had come to know intimately. There was one room though, where the beasts held keys to the worlds. Literally. The prince doubted that the Chitauri had built the construct, being fairly certain that they had instead found it. They had taken him to it only twice, once to threaten him into action, and then again at the end to transport him to Midgard. But the God of Mischief was not purported a genius for nothing, and while the total amount of time he’d spent in the vast room could be counted only in minutes, he had memorised each tendril of sorcery, each pathway that existed between the worlds, storing the information away carefully until it would be of use.

 

And now it was going to be of tremendous use, for it was his only method of escape.

 

As rapidly as he dared and maintaining an extreme level of caution, Loki fled through the oppressive corridors towards what he prayed would be his back door. It _had_ to be. There were no other options. Steadily he moved forward, clinging to the shadows, controlling the weight of his steps and the pressure of his breaths. After what seemed like a lifetime he found himself just out of sight of the large doorway, backed up against the side of a narrow corridor, his heart thudding rapidly. Daring to chance a glance around the roughly hewn wall, he allowed himself less than a second to take in the details of the two large Chitauri guards who were posted on either side of the threshold. Licking dry lips he closed his eyes for a moment, willing the pounding in his ears to subside as he took a breath. Then, smiling slightly, he drew a wicked looking dagger he’d lifted neatly from one of the guards on escape from his cell-

 

_From the cell_, he corrected himself angrily. _It was NOT his cell._

 

The blade was sure to be coated in some sort of incapacitating venom, he thought with some dark satisfaction. He had been on the receiving end of this sort of weapon far too many times to believe otherwise. Loki decided he was quite looking forward to visiting that particular brand of suffering on his captors, for a change.

 

Taking a final, hushed breath to steady himself, the Trickster slipped silently out from behind the wall and was on top of the guards before they even realised he was there. Briskly he felled the first with a sharp jab to the side, simultaneously catching the other with a kick to its knee. Watching momentarily as the first Chitauri dropped silently to the ground, writhing and convulsing in agony yet unable to voice its suffering, Loki twisted his body gracefully, preparing to bring his boot down on the second guard’s chest. Unexpectedly however, the beast grabbed his ankle with its misshapen hands, crushing so forcefully that the god could not quite bite back the cry that escaped his throat. Angrily, he bent his knee, feeling his ankle twist awkwardly as he vehemently dropped his entire weight into the centre of the creature’s gut and drove the point of the blade into its ribs. It made a gurgling sound that dwindled rapidly as a gush of pearly-grey blood poured at once from its mouth and the wound.

 

The Trickster jerked his head up as the muted sounds of his pursuers met his ears. Still atop the dead Chitauri he attempted to pull the dagger free with a powerful tug. It didn’t budge. He felt his heart constrict in his chest. He tried again, more forcefully this time, and then a third and fourth time growing ever more desperate as the echo of feet drew closer. Gritting his teeth in black fury the prince decided to cut his losses and rose quickly to make his way to the door, hissing as his ankle blazed suddenly. Feeling the bone crunch, Loki cursed silently and limped swiftly to the room’s entrance, ignoring the intense throbbing that was now arcing up his leg. As he slipped through the door, he glanced back and noted with a sense of vindication that the first beast continued to thrash noiselessly in anguish, frothing at the mouth.

 

Once inside the room he looked around.

 

It was truly magnificent in its size; a rival to the great hall of Asgard. It was not decked out with the same riches, but the magic that filled the space hit Loki like a torrent. A massive circular construct occupied a full third of the room, with sets of stairs leading to progressively higher and higher platforms. The first time the God of Mischief had seen it he’d recognised instantly what it represented. Yggdrasil. That such a representation of the Holy World Tree had been constructed here, in the barren void outside the Universe, filled him with revulsion. There were four, pure white platforms in total. Each level held orbs of rotating energy, their surfaces shimmering with an eerie light, suspended in space. Strange hieroglyphics were etched into the air on the underside of each sphere, denoting the represented realm. The lower level held only one: Niflheimr. The middle level, 5 steps up, was occupied by five globes: Midgard, Jötunheimr, Niðavellir, Svartálfheim, and Múspellsheimr, each laid out evenly around the circular structure. Vanaheimr and Ālfheimr glimmered brightly on the next platform up, and above them, at the very top, lay Asgard, magnificent in its glory even here.

 

The God of Mischief pulled his gaze from the mighty edifice of sorcery, knowing he needed something with which to block the room’s entrance lest the Chitauri burst through in an untimely fashion. Despite the vastness of the room and its twisting magic, the remainder was a blasted mess of rock and rubble. Loki’s bright green eyes alighted on a large boulder that seemed to lie as if discarded in the corner, and felt relief flood him.

 

Pushing the immense slab of stone was no mean feat, and the Trickster sucked in sharp breaths of stale air as his ruined ankle intensely protested the rough treatment. Eventually however, the rock lay securely in front of the only access to the room, and Loki rested back on it briefly, catching his breath as he lifted intelligent eyes back to the flickering energies that scaled high above him. Not all of the connections between the orbs and their parent worlds were complete. Fully half of the spheres led to nowhere, tendrils of magic flickering loosely as if their maker had simply forgotten to tie them off. This filled him with some hope at least; that the Chitauri did not have a free ride to wherever they pleased was an immense positive. That Asgard was not one of the incomplete orbs did _not_ , on the other hand, thrill him. The only other slightly encouraging point of fact was that, at most, each connection could carry a select number of souls. The Chitauri would not be transporting an army through these portals any time soon.

 

Feeling the pressing passage of time, the god lurched himself away from the sealed doorway and quickly made his way to the construct, enjoying the tingle of sorcery that licked its way over his skin. For Loki, the dwelling of the Chitauri was a desolate place for more reasons that one. Last time, they had locked away his native Seiðr, leaving him feeling cold, empty, and utterly exposed. Worse than that, however, had been his harrowing inability to access the undercurrent of Creation via more... direct means. When he had tried, in desperation, to reach out with word and hand to the energies of the Universe he had been met with... nothing. There was simply nothing there. It was as if Creation did not exist here. And _that_ just served to make the entire situation so much worse.

 

Hauling himself up the smooth white steps he bypassed the orb representing Niflheimr without even a second glance. _Not worth it, and not intact in any case,_ he thought dismissively. His sharp green eyes came to rest, however, on the closest intact realm he could access.

 

Midgard.

 

_Of course_ , he thought, irritation flaring his nostrils.

 

He glanced around briefly, searching for another, less... potentially hazardous world.

 

There were none in limping distance.

 

Exhaling a short breath, Loki narrowed his eyes and turned angrily to the swirling mass of unrestrained energy. Quickly he began to probe, reaching out as much as he could with his sorcery shackled, searching for an opening, a connection, _anything_. Sweat began to bead his brow with the exertion, his pulse rising rapidly as the sound of screeching voices and thudding feet began to reverberate from beyond the door. Farther and harder he pushed, pressing shaking hands out to enhance the contact with the physical touch of skin. As he dove deeper into the seething mess, harsh powers started to burn lines across his unprotected skin, causing him to hiss and recoil. Steeling himself the Trickster pushed again, ignoring the pain as the raw magic pierced him, flickering and blazing like an inferno. He explored every corner, every hidden recess, only to find the same thing – a gaping hole.

 

A hole that needed to be filled with a very specific type of sorcery in order to access and then activate the portal. The sort of sorcery that would require years of meticulous and precise work to create.

 

Years of time that Loki most certainly did not have the luxury of presently.

 

He stumbled back from the orb. His eyes were wide in horrified realisation, arms raw and ankle throbbing as he stood for a slow, painful moment, breaths coming short and ragged. Then, the god let out a strangled wail as he crumpled to the floor, surrendering entirely to his overwhelming distress as his fists pounded rhythmically into the dust. Tears began to fall unchecked down his cheeks as the stark, terrifying realisation hit.

 

There _was_ no way out, no way to escape. The Other had been right; he had nowhere to run to.

 

His sobs ceased abruptly as the steady pounding started, resonating off the bleak walls of the room. A sign that the Chitauri had decided it was time to retrieve their spoil as they began to dismantle the door. The Trickster scrambled awkwardly to his feet, looking around wildly for a place to go, to hide, for any sort of weapon with which to defend himself. His bright green eyes came to rest on something, then. A long metal strut, as one would use to reinforce a wall. Abruptly, his tears stopped, sobbing left discarded in his throat as he stared at the object. He narrowed his sharp eyes, feeling his temper begin to rise. Blinking the tears away angrily, he bared his teeth at no one in particular and made for the make-shift weapon.

 

_If he could not escape the Chitauri_ , he thought darkly, _he could at least fuck their day right up_. _Let them feel the wrath of a god._


	12. Chapter 12

It was a particularly incessant, low, mechanical roar that pulled Tony Stark from the murky depths of his alcohol-induced slumber. It irritated him, actually; a particularly demanding noise that perched just on the edge of hearing. As he departed the realm of sleep he wondered why, at first, a motorbike should be turning over next to his head. It was as consciousness began to possess him he realised with a clarity fuelled by the after-effects of liquid sedation, that in fact a chainsaw was being used nearby. Disjointed images ran across the edges of Tony's mind; an irate Norse god, a shattered door, bottles upon empty bottles of alcohol, a discussion that caused his stomach to sink progressively lower as the night wore on. Tony mentally squeezed his eyes shut against them and, determined to return to his repose, rolled over to seek out a new position of comfort.

It was the sharp, surprised yell from Stark accompanied by a resounding thud that had Thor on his feet, instantly roused from his stupor. Brandishing a hastily grabbed weapon whilst attempting to shake the fog from his brain, the God of Thunder looked around for the threat. After a moment he frowned, gaze shifting to his arm as he suddenly noticed Mjölnir's unusual weight in his hand. Swearing colourfully in the Adgardian tongue the Thunderer stormily cast aside the sleek and trim-lined lamp he'd erroneously seized in haste, and snatched up his hammer from where it had fallen the previous night. The lamp hit the floor with a ringing crash as it instantly exploded into a hundred shattered pieces, each one skittering away across the hard floor.

"Please... would you  _stop_  breaking my stuff!?"

Starting, Thor blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes and turned back to the scene before him. Stark was presently lying on the floor at the foot of the largest black leather couch having rolled and fallen from it moments before, curled up in the foetal position, clutching his head in his hands. "And also," the billionaire continued piteously, "stop making so much god-damned  _noise_."

"You know not how to hold your drink, Man of Iron," the Thunderer rumbled, evidently amused as he lowered his weapon. "Indeed, by your wailing I did believe you to be under attack."

His tone was far too taunting for Tony Stark's liking, and for a moment the billionaire could believe that Thor was indeed brother to the Trickster God. Frowning, Stark uncurled somewhat and glared at his friend from beneath his elbow. "Tony Stark does not wail," he protested heatedly. Then, burying his head once more he continued in a muffled voice, "Tony Stark only ever yells angrily in a very manly fashion."

Thor smirked. Then, after a moment of silence asked in a slightly more serious tone, "may I partake in some of your food prior to our departure this morn?"

From his position on the floor Stark frowned as he grappled to string together the hazy memories of last night into something more coherent. Unwilling to ask the obvious question, however, he simply replied, "sure. Go nuts." An inevitably awkward pause followed as the Thunderer shifted his weight slightly causing Tony to sigh inaudibly. "It means, yes, Thor. Yes, you may eat my food. Just not the coffee. That is  _strictly_  off limits. Capisce?"

"I thank you, my friend, for your generous hospitality," Thor responded in genuine gratitude, obviously ignoring the parts of the sentence he did not fully understand.

Tony lay still and unmoving as his Asgardian companion strode non too quietly from the room, every footfall a heavy strike that caused Tony's head to explode, flashes of whiteflaring unforgivingly behind shut eyelids. Once the heaving nausea had passed he breathed deeply for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then began sifting through his recollection of events from the preceding day. After a few false starts and more than a couple of inwardly directed groans, Stark was relatively confident he'd pieced together the sequence: Thor had turned up, smashed his door, admitted to losing his psycho brother then offered up some uncomfortably perceptive questions about his behaviour, and had finally capped the entire undesirable conversation off by delivering the news that a group of Chitauri had stolen away during the New York invasion and taken something important from Earth. Stark had responded to these rather disagreeable revelations by sending an urgent hail out to the Avengers, recalling them immediately to base ('yes, of  _course_  I mean Stark Tower', he'd had to answer in exasperation more than once, 'where else would I be referring to?'). Additionally, he'd sent for Eric Selvig, the astrophysics scientist, as well as begrudgingly informing Fury, which he could only presume he'd done because he had been, at the time, completely inebriated. He'd then proceeded to ply the Thunder God with an exceedingly awful amount of alcohol, pointing out, quite reasonably he'd thought, that even if they left the following evening the two of them would still arrive at Stark Tower prior to the majority of the group. Thor had insisted on departing in the morning however, and once Stark had begrudgingly agreed the two of them had worked hard at becoming excessively drunk, the evening eventually ending in well earned unconsciousness.

Tony sighed and rolled gingerly onto his back to stare up at the sleek white ceiling. "Jarvis?"

"Yes sir?"

"What's the current ETA of the group?"

"Mr Rogers is presently awaiting your arrival at Stark tower, Mr Banner is en route from India approximately 17 hours, Ms Romanov and Mr Barton are in the process of extracting themselves from a S.H.I.E.L.D operation at a top secret location-"

"Which is where exactly?"

"Bolivia, sir. Mr Selvig will arrive tomorrow morning, and Mr Fury has... requested that you contact him via his secure teleconference line when the group meeting is in session."

There was a heavy pause and then, "what did he actually say?"

"I believe that his precise phrasing was 'you tell that drunken little fuck that he does not have the clearance, let alone the authority, to summon me to his eye-sore of a tower willy-nilly, and that he can make a god damned phone call like everybody else'."

Stark sucked in a breath. "Eye-sore? Wow, low blow."

"Indeed, sir."

The billionaire lay still on the floor for a moment before groaning and rolling over, bracing himself to force his body into a semblance of standing. As he was on his hands and knees however, a smoky memory returned to him suddenly and he frowned. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you order a chainsaw into my house for some reason?"

There was a pause in which Tony could swear the A.I blinked. "Ah, no sir. I believe what you thought to be a chainsaw was, in fact, Mr. Odinson."

"Right. The God of Thunder snores. Of course he does. Excellent." Stark rolled his eyes and then shook his head, regretting it instantly. "No more slumber parties," he muttered darkly to no one in particular.

Many hours later, after a hot shower and a large number of coffees that still seemed to fall just short of the mark, the private jet of billionaire Tony Stark landed on Stark Tower in the middle of New York. The tower was still a devastated wreck, with a large shattered hole gaping in its side, the main window conspicuously absent, and the interior of one of the floors a disorganised mess. Parts of the exterior had fared no better, and Pepper, efficient as ever, had cordoned off the entire area prior to its remodelling. The jet shut down its engines allowing the cacophony of noise that was the concrete city below to re-establish its dominance. Two figures disembarked from the door. One walked straight and tall, moving with what could only be described as determined purpose. The other, however, held himself gingerly and walked in a manner that spoke of deep personal affront. When the former offered to assist the latter down the stairs the descriptive profanities that followed left very little to the imagination.

Steve Rogers watched this little scene unfold with some concern, but no real surprise. When the two men entered the room, he turned to the one who seemed to be walking as if every footfall brought discomfort, or nausea, or both. It did not take a particularly active imagination to delineate the cause of his suffering with his disheveled hair, slumped shoulders, and firmly placed sunglasses. "Is everything alright St-"

"It is currently quiet time!" Stark snapped, the words coming out as if he'd been forced to utter them more than once during the transit from Malibu. He did not look at the blonde, but simply exited the room as briskly and carefully as possible, deliberately ignoring his traveling companion.

Once the billionaire was gone, Steve turned to Thor with a raised eyebrow and a slightly amused look on his face. "Well, he's not in a good mood," he commented. "Did he lose a drinking contest or something?"

Thor grinned impishly. "Not at all!" the god responded merrily. "We drank, we sang, friend Stark proved himself to be stronger than a wild Mulfipr in our wrestling. We needs must have further practice in these honourable activities!" Thor punctuated his assertion by slapping Rogers on the back in friendly greeting, nearly causing the blonde to fall to the floor as his knees buckled under the force.

Steve grabbed the table even as Thor grabbed his arm to steady him, and in a strained voice asked, "are you sure getting Tony to drink more is the best idea?"

"I see not why it should be anything other than agreeable. And you of course shall join us in our cavorting, son of Rogers!"

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but then changed his mind, reminding himself that no matter how many times he'd informed Thor the god just couldn't seem to grasp the concept 'can't get drunk'. Despite that, Steve secretly believed that if it came to it Thor could probably still drink him under the table. So instead he simply shook his head in a show of amusement, and replied, "perhaps after we've sorted out this current problem? Which I wouldn't mind an advance briefing on, if you have the time?" The soldier watched as what he thought to be a simple request cut the atmosphere flat, and Thor's previously cheerful face fell into an expression of deep concern. "Wow, uh, sorry... I didn't mean to... I mean, we can wait if you'd rather," Steve offered haltingly, arueful expression spreading across his face.

"It is of no concern" the god of Thunder replied, sounding both weary and tense as he waved away the soldier's apology. Sitting heavily at the table he continued, "indeed, I would be grateful to know your thoughts if you have time enough to attend my words."

Steve nodded. "Of course," he said kindly, taking in the despondent expression of his comrade. "Here, how about you stay there, I'll get us some coffee, and then you can tell me what's going on?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the ongoing comments and kudos! It's so wonderful to see that people are enjoying the story. Loki returns next chapter :)

Steve Rogers was concerned.

He'd been concerned ever since Thor had recounted recent events to him, and was not at all comfortable with the implications his words held. It was not in Steve's nature to brood, he was a man of doing, and thus he'd found himself frequenting one of the many well equipped training rooms in an effort to expend some of his restless energy prior to the arrival of the group. There had, initially, been a well-meaning attempt by the captain to involve Thor in his workout sessions in a bid to stay the god's growing gloom. It had ended rather unfortunately however, with the fire alarm system screaming like a banshee, a thin coat of fire extinguisher foam blanketing everything like snow, and the entire floor flooded in knee deep water.

Steve had not extended the offer again.

Eventually however, the group assembled, and now found themselves sitting around a large wooden table in a tasteful looking room surrounded on all sides by clear glass walls. Romanov and Barton had been the last to arrive, entering quietly, each dressed in professional clothes and wearing equally professional faces. Presently, the group was waiting for Stark and Banner, who were deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. It was only when Barton cleared his throat pointedly that Stark looked up, halting his current sentence abruptly, shooting an affronted look in the archer's direction.

"I'm sorry," he said, in a tone that made it clear he was not sorry at all, "but I'm in the middle of a conversation here. Honestly," he rolled his eyes, turning back to Banner who had the look of someone about to be caught in the middle of a crossfire, "highly trained assassins today are just so rude-"

"Stark. Stop being an ass," Natasha cut over him sharply, ignoring the look of deliberate indignation on Tony's face as she pointedly turned her attention to Rogers. "Care to share why we've been recalled from the field?" she asked the soldier.

Steve opened his mouth to speak.

"Hang on," Stark cut in glibly, "why is grandpa spangle pants in charge? I should be in charge. It's my meeting. And it's also in my tower, too, if you haven't noticed. Even if thunder face over there is set on destroying everything I own."

Thor had the good grace to look abashed.

"Really?" the red headed assassin responded, her tone full of mock surprise and sliced with danger, "because I was under the impression that this was an Avenger's meeting at the Avenger's base, which means that Captain Rogers is, in fact, in charge. Unless of course this isn't an Avengers meeting, in which case you and I are going to have a discussion in private, right now, as to why _you_ recalled us from the field." The assassin levelled a look at Stark that dared him to respond.

Recognising the challenge and unable to resist, a suggestive grin spread slowly across Tony's boyish face as he retorted, "in private? Really? Shall I bring whips or handcuffs? I'm betting you're a handcuffs kind of girl, yeah? I've got an excellent collection if you'd like to see."

Natasha simply raised an eyebrow, her deadpan countenance not shifting an inch, as Barton quipped, "Wow. Dude. Hate to break it to you but she is _way_ out of your league."

"I know this is difficult for someone like you to understand, Legolas, but _no_ woman is out of my league. I _am_ the league." He emphasised his point by winking lasciviously at the red headed beauty.

It was when Natasha rolled her eyes and Clint opened his mouth to offer a sharp rejoinder that Steve, ever the peace keeper, held up his hands in a placating manner. "Please, guys, this is really not helping with the issue at hand." Clint shot Tony a dirty look which was returned with a rude gesture, but the two remained silent as Steve continued, "so, I know that many of you are wondering why you've been called back so soon after the New York situation-"

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," Tony cut over Steve, unable to remain silent for more than a second. "The _situation_? Seriously? What do people think we were doing? Helping some old granny cross the street so that a catastrophic traffic jam could be averted?" Stony silence met his words and the billionaire looked around in shock. "Seriously? No one? New York Situation? Grannies...?"

The captain raised his eyebrows at the billionaire, maintaining a meaningful silence until Tony finally relented, muttering to himself about people's lack of imagination and gesticulated for the soldier to carry on.

"As I was saying," Steve continued in a slightly more clipped tone, "I know you're all wondering why you've been recalled so soon. Thank you, first of all, to everyone for being so prompt and especially to Dr. Selvig for joining us-"

"Not at all," the professor responded, nodding at the captain.

"Essentially, the reason for this urgent meeting is that it has become apparent that the New York... _incident_ ," Steve said, deliberately accentuating the last word causing Stark to knuckle his own forehead and exclaim 'how is that better!?', "is not as resolved as we would have liked. Thor has had to bring us the unfortunate news that not only has Loki been taken by the Chitauri, but that they have stolen something important from Earth as well."

It did not shock Captain Rogers that no one around the table looked particularly surprised; Banner blinked, Selvig looked thoughtful, Tony scowled (although it was truer to say that Tony was presently scowling), Natasha did not change her expression from 'unreadable', and Barton merely groaned as if expecting the news. "I think, however, the person best placed to explain the current situation is Thor," Steve continued, gesturing to his team mate who up until now had sat unmoving in his chair, eyes downcast, hands lax in his lap.

All eyes turned to the large Asgardian. Thor raised his face to the group, bright blue eyes troubled, and without preamble intoned sombrely, "my brother has been seized against his will by the Chitauri, after he attempted to give himself as sacrifice."

"Pardon?" Natasha said, raising a sharp finger to silence Barton as he began to open his mouth.

Steve pursed his lips. "I think you need to elaborate, Thor. Tell them the rest."

"Yes, of course. My apologies," the Thunderer offered. The god sighed then, rubbing his face briefly as if to clear his head. "Forgive me. My brother was ever the one gifted with elocution."

Whether it was born out of kindness for their companion or simply a sudden awkwardness his admission produced, the entire group remained silent as Thor quietly contemplated his words prior to delivering them. To his credit, even Stark managed to stay his tongue. After a moment of consideration the Thunder God began his discourse. Slowly at first did the words come, until eventually he appeared to find his comfort and they began tumbling from his throat. Often messy and inelegant in his phrasing, the intensity of his delivery nonetheless sat heavy with the room leaving none to question the god's own sense of urgency. He recounted the story in full, from the moment the Trickster had been found struggling against the Chitauri, surroundings wrecked by the disrupted spell, to the conversation between himself and his parents.

Once done, the room fell utterly silent, as if the words were still finding their way to their intended destinations, their weight yet to settle upon the audience.

Eventually a voice broke the quiet and surprisingly, it was Banner who spoke first. His tone was soft but no less piercing. "What are you saying, Thor? That Loki is on our side, an unrecognised hero? And currently victim to the Chitauri?" His keen eyes trained sharply on the God of Thunder.

"It would be amiss of me if I did not accept the possibility that my brother is exactly as you deem him to be," the god began, reluctantly acquiescing to the group's unspoken scepticism, "however, it is the belief of the royal court that events are not as they would initially appear."

"Royal court?" Natasha questioned.

"The All-father, All-mother, and myself."

" _That_ is what constitutes the entire royal court?!" Stark questioned incredulously.

"Not the entire court." Thor gave him a funny look. "That is of course made up of many individuals. But we are its crown, and thus our opinions are by definition those of the court."

"Officially impressed," Stark quipped, raising his hand as punctuation to the remark.

"Officially unimportant to the conversation," Romanov shot back, her tone sharp. She turned back to Thor, deliberately ignoring Stark as he pulled a face at her. Leaning forward, her athletic arms clasped in front of her atop the reflective surface of the table, she said, "Just to be clear Thor, you and your family are of the belief that Loki may have attacked New York with the specific aim of exposing the Chitauri, and what? _Not_ giving them the Tesseract?"

"Verily, Lady Natasha," the god replied solemnly.

Again a brief, uncomfortable silence descended upon the group, and this time it was Steve's turn to rub his face. Then, straightening up, and with an unassuming air of authority he said, "Alright, look, why don't we - just for a moment - entertain the possibility that what Thor and his family are suggesting is true?" This earned him looks of dubiety from around the table, along with an openly grateful look from the aforementioned god and a dark frown from Barton. "I'm not saying it is," he emphasised, "just that we should consider the possibility."

"Why?"

Rogers looked at Banner questioningly, who shrugged. "Just to play Devil's advocate," the doctor offered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

The Captain inclined his head in acceptance. "Well," he began reasonably, "if we're to be Earth's defenders then we need to work with the facts. When we don't have the facts it's our duty to explore all lines of enquiry, otherwise we may miss something important. Secondly, if Loki _is_ on our side, if he _is_ a victim, then I for one am not going to be responsible for leaving him in the hands of the Chitauri without at least _considering_ the possibility that he might be innocent."

"Hell, even if he isn't all innocent and cherub-like," Stark commented, "I'm still in favour of dragging his sorry arse back from wherever the Chitauri have him holed up."

"Why?" Natasha allowed her expression to morph into one of guarded curiosity.

"Because torture, for one. And in case they're treating him like the princess he always wanted to be, for two. Either way," he said, ignoring the frown Thor directed at him, "both options are crap and he should be made to face _our_ justice."

"Bullshit." Barton's sharp voice cut like daggers through the air. Everyone turned to face the previously silent archer, whose face was currently white with rising rage. "Honestly? Fuck the idea that he's innocent. We all know he isn't. I mean, he wrecked half of New York for fuck's sake! He murdered Coulson, or have you forgotten? As for rescuing his sorry ass, I say leave him. Who gives a fuck what happens to him? The Chitauri will probably punish him far better than we ever could."

"Yeah, that's called _torture_ dickwad, not punishment. There's just a bit of a difference. I would know," Stark snapped angrily.

Barton turned to the billionaire, eyes burning with naked fury. "There _is_ a difference is though, isn't there? Loki _knew_ what he was getting into, he knew the consequences, and now he has to pay. He's a big boy," he continued furiously, "and old enough to know better than think anyone's going to come running after him just because his pathetic little plans have come apart at the seams."

If Stark was going to respond he never got the chance, as Thor opened his mouth and said, almost absently, as if the rest of Barton's words had not even reached his ears, "actually, my brother's age is not as great as you may believe."

This got the attention of the group.

"How old is he exactly?" Banner asked slowly. "In, well, earth years I suppose."

The Asgardian's eyes glazed slightly as if he'd just been asked to compute the meaning of life.

"Just... approximately," the doctor offered patiently.

"Well, Loki did once give instruction on how the calculation may be performed, and I am certain we spoke of it recently... Forgive me, but what is the age of majority here on Midgard?"

Banner shifted awkwardly under the ongoing attention as the table looked back at him, collectively deciding he could answer that particular question. "Um, well it depends where you are really, and what the age is being used for. I mean, here in America, for example, the age for voting is eighteen, drinking is twenty one, but the age of sexual and legal consent is variable, between fifteen and eighteen. In India, it's eighteen in every state except Manipur where it's fourteen. But if you were to consider-" the doctor broke off suddenly, a look of embarrassed realisation blooming on his face as he took in Thor's somewhat dazed expression. "And that's far too much information," he mumbled apologetically, "sorry. What I mean is, is that it's generally around sixteen to eighteen in most places."

The doctor looked to Tony then as if to seek confirmation, the other man simply giving a bored shrug. "Sure, why not?" he offered.

Thor nodded, considering these words, and said, "in that case, I would estimate Loki to be aged eighteen earth years... perhaps nineteen."

"Whoa, hang on there point break, he's _how fucking old_!? Are you telling me that your brother is a fucking _child_?" Stark's voice rose above the sudden clamour in the room as various expressions of surprise were articulated.

"My brother is no child!" the God of Thunder boomed angrily, instantly commanding silence. "He has reached majority, and is a recognised warrior of Asgard! He may join battle and has done so far more times than you have lived in years, Man of Iron. He has proved himself worthy of the title warrior many times over, may quench his thirst at the table with mead, and may take a wife should he wish it. I will _not_ have you slander him as a mere child!" By this stage, the Thunderer had risen slightly from his seat, a dark storm building quickly in his flashing blue eyes.

It was Steve, as always, who took it upon himself to calm the raging god, noting silently (and not for the first time) Tony's obvious lack of self preservation instinct. "Thor, please, Tony didn't mean- it's just... it's a bit surprising is all. He wasn't trying to suggest that Loki is incompetent-"

The playboy billionaire drew breath at this. It was Natasha who everyone later agreed had saved Tony's life at that moment, when she near vaulted from her chair, immediately silencing him by pinning him to his seat with a deceptively strong arm and bringing an efficient looking dagger up to his face with the words, "hold your tongue, Stark." Tony later protested that he never even noticed the knife, being more interested in the view the assassin was currently presenting him ("she's in love with me").

Rogers pretended not to notice, and spoke right through the commotion, watching cautiously as Thor's ire continued to rise. "We all just assumed he'd be older. That's all. Honestly, Thor, no one meant offence. I mean, seriously? Even here, eighteen isn't really that young. In my day you could go to war at eighteen. We want to help you, honestly we do, Thor. And we know this is a difficult situation... for all of us. Just... sit down, ok? No one's going to be getting any help if all we do is bicker."

"And the conversion is probably relatively meaningless, in any case," Bruce added, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut.

The God of Thunder glared for a moment longer, his demeanour that of a gathering tempest, leaving none in the room in doubt as to how he'd earned the title. Then, as suddenly as the squall had developed, it dissipated, and the god sat back down looking grim. "I will continue to hear your counsel," he began, "but woe be unto the next soul who brings dishonour to my brother's name."

Natasha, who was by now back in her own seat, shot a meaningful look at Stark, who literally had to bite down on his closed fist in order to prevent the words, 'I think he's already done a bang up job of that all by himself,' from falling out of his mouth.

Once a modicum of order had been restored, Steve brought the conversation back to the original topic. "Right, so we're going to assume Loki's innocence for a moment at least, as the justice system would have us do. Also, in case anyone in this room was at all wondering," he continued, his tone becoming firm, brooking no dissent, "torture is _never_ ok, and if Loki does need to face justice he'll do it back in Asgard, as was previously agreed. Understood?"

No one dared argue.

"Right, good. Now, Loki as a good guy." Steve sighed as he tried to grapple together the conflicting inputs inherent in that sentence. "Why don't we start with... Thor, the conversation you had with your parents... can you just briefly outline your arguments as to why the whole Chitauri invasion didn't make sense?"

"Of course," the god rumbled, the timbre of his voice still threatening rain. "The conduct of the invasion was not in Loki's nature. If he had wanted to incite me to rage he would have sought out Lady Jane Foster. If he had wanted a throne he would have had the Chitauri force an attack upon Asgard."

"Hang on, just... let me straighten this out in my head." Everyone in the room turned in surprise toward Selvig, speaking for the first time. "So you're saying that Loki, the God of Mischief, your brother," he indicated to Thor who narrowed his eyes slightly but nodded in affirmation, "somehow got caught up with these...Chitauri creatures, and that they wanted the Tesseract for some god awful purpose. Instead of what we _think_ we saw - Loki trying to take over the world and in return giving the Tesseract to the aliens - what we _actually_ saw was Loki trying _not_ to give it to them and exposing them in the process." He paused, and then, "whilst ruining New York and doing horrible things including mind control. No offence meant," the professor added quickly, offering his open palm as a symbol of peace in Thor's direction. "Just saying it as I understand it."

"I do not take offence at your words, friend Eric. I would offer, however, that my brother may not have been in his right mind during recent events."

"What makes you say that, Thor?" Banner asked curiously.

The Thunderer shrugged. "He did not seem in his right mind," he said thoughtfully. "Further, if he was given the power to control the minds of others," at this Barton scowled, "who is to say that the same was not done unto him? To control a god would not only be a great feat, but an immense and terrible power for any who did posses it."

"You think Loki was possessed?" Natasha clarified, her expression remaining carefully neutral as Barton's darkened beside her.

"I know not Lady Natasha. I am simply offering my own observations as to how I perceived Loki during recent events."

"Do you think he was being controlled by the staff?"

"What? The glow stick of doom?" Stark responded to the assassin's question. "No way. He loved that overly phallic symbol."

"Actually, he hated the thing," Selvig cut in, eliciting a look of overt surprise from Stark at the declaration.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

Selvig looked abashed to have spoken up, as if the revelation had been a secret not meant to be spoken out loud. "Uh, well..." he said, glancing at Hawkeye who was now directing a fierce glower his way, "he would always put it down and leave it places, as if he were trying to lose it."

"Seriously!?" Stark sounded incredulous.

The professor nodded, frowning suddenly as if a long lost memory had just been returned to him. "Yeah, and then all of a sudden you'd find yourself there, right up in front of him, pushing the blasted thing back into his hands."

"Is that true, Clint?" Steve asked softly.

"It means nothing," the archer snapped. "So what if he didn't like the fucking staff? Maybe he was trying to screw the Chitauri over too, and didn't want them to find out?"

"So they _could_ communicate with him through it?" the soldier pressed.

Barton shrugged angrily. "I dunno. It seemed that way, I suppose, yeah. It wasn't exactly something he shared with me," he spat.

The Captain pursed his lips and turned back to the professor. "Anything else you remember?"

"Well. He never slept. And when he did, there were these god awful night terrors he always had. Had to wake him from sleep a time or two - they were scaring the workers," he said as if in explanation.

"Was Loki prone to nightmares, Thor?" Rogers turned to the god.

"As a child, yes," the Thunderer admitted reluctantly. "He ever was uneasy in his slumber, but certainly it was infrequent he experienced overt terrors of the night as an adult."

Steve frowned, turning his gaze back to Selvig. Whatever his next question was, however, no one found out, for Bruce looked up from whatever reverie he'd been lost in and said quietly, "how _did_ you close the portal, exactly, Eric?"

The scientist opened his mouth like a fish out of water, staring at Banner. Then he said, surprising even himself, "I... Well... Loki showed me how. He had me add it into the plans."

The room imploded.

Naturally, it was Stark who ended up gaining the floor. "Wait, are you saying that Loki _deliberately_ had you build an off switch into his magic wormhole box of doom? Now, why the absolute _fuck_ would he do that?" he asked brusquely, looking at Thor.

"Interesting that he managed to lose his staff at just the moment it was needed to close the portal, too," Bruce murmured softly, as if speaking to himself.

"And I thought this guy was supposed to be smart," Stark said sarcastically. "You know, come to that, if this indeed was some incredibly complicated ruse, designed purely to root the Chitauri in the ass to kingdom come, why didn't he just tell us? Why devise a plan that literally involved pissing everybody off? Why not just come to earth, take the Tesseract, give us the low down, and we all make roast Chitauri together. End of story."

"I assume there must have been reasons," Steve shrugged.

"The same reasons that had him trying to kill himself, you mean?" Bruce pointed out. "More to the point, why did the Chitauri even need Loki in the first place? Why not just come and take the Tesseract themselves?"

"Too many variables unaccounted for beasty boy," Tony replied, shaking his head. "We don't know enough about all of that... stuff," he said, wiggling his fingers in a mock conjuring of magic, "to offer any solid theories."

The captain closed his eyes, resting back into his chair for a moment, collecting his thoughts before talking. "Ok, so where are we up to? For the 'Loki may be on our side' theory, in support of: the invasion wasn't in character, he may have been under some sort of control, he kept trying to lose the staff-"

"Magic glow stick of doom," Stark corrected him.

"-he had nightmares," Steve ignored him, continuing to tick the list off on his fingers. "He instructed Dr. Selvig how to close the portal, lost his staff at a moment exceptionally beneficial for us, and attempted suicide." The Captain looked up, noticing that Thor had turned his face away at this last point. "Sorry buddy," Steve offered sincerely. Thor grimaced, but inclined his head in acceptance.

"How about we go through the reasons why Loki is _not_ likely to be on our side?" Barton snapped acidly, then. He turned to Thor. "I understand he's your brother, I do, but if this is going to be unbiased-"

"What, and you think _you're_ unbiased, bird brain?" Stark said scornfully.

"No more or less than you," Barton shot back. "You're the one with the fucking issues with-"

Natasha put a hand on his quickly, cutting the archer off saying "Clint, no."

But Tony already knew what was coming, and rose straight for the bait. "Issues with _what,_ Clint? Torture? Is _that_ what you were going to fucking say? Because yeah, I have fucking issues with torture. I'm really sorry if that makes me too much of a decent human being for you to handle."

"People! Seriously! Less arguing and more discussing how to stop the Chitauri from attacking earth again," Steve shouted.

"Then why the fuck do we keep talking about how heroic we think Loki really is!?" Clint shouted back furiously, his face becoming blotchy and red. "We all know he's a professional god damned liar! He's the God of fucking Lies for fuck's sake! All this shit you're talking, about 'nightmares' and fucking suicide notes, it's all a crock of shit and I can't believe you're actually falling for it." He threw his arms up in overt exasperation, his temper wildly out of control. "Here's what _I_ think is going on," he growled, "Loki is a crazed psychopath who could manipulate any one of us in his god damned fucking sleep. He's engineered this _entire_ situation, so that in the event of him losing we would be sucked in like fucking cretins, rushing off to his 'rescue', using the Tesseract to do so, and handing him everything all neat and fucking tidy on a plate. That includes us, untold power, and an unlimited travel ticket to anywhere he wants to fucking go." The archer ticked each point off on his fingers in mock imitation of Steve's earlier list. "So you each tell me what _you_ think is more likely," he snarled, "that the maniacal madman, who even _you_ admitted was beyond reason," he snapped, jabbing a finger at the Thunder God, "managed to conjure up some overly complex plan in order to save us all, which involved _pretending_ to take over earth by _actually leading a fucking alien army_ into the middle of New York, killing a whole lot of god damned people, taking over the minds and generally destroying the lives of good people? Or," he continued stormily, "that he actually is just evil, tried to take over the planet, failed miserably, and now his one-time allies are pissed that he didn't deliver on his end of the deal and are taking matters into their own hands?" He sat back in his chair, nostrils flaring as he stared his companions down. "I mean for fuck's sake, can you _honestly_ tell me that anything other than the second even makes a shred of fucking sense?"

There was stunned silence. The air in the room felt as if it were stretched rubber thin, ready to snap back upon its occupants at any moment. Everyone looked at Thor, collective breaths held.

Finally the god looked up from the point on the wall he'd been staring at during the archer's tirade. His face was drawn and miserable, his voice strained. "I will not lie, friends, and say that I have not considered these words that the son of Barton speaks. I have. I have indeed thought these very arguments in my head over and over, but yet I simply cannot give up all hope. I cannot believe my brother to be so lost, so irredeemable... and the inconsistencies... I had merely hoped..." The god trailed off, looking into middle distance for a moment before continuing, the previously unwavering determination surfacing once more as he placed his palms upon the table. "I _must_ assume that my brother is in danger, whether his intentions were honourable or not. Nor will I leave him at the mercy of monsters, under any circumstance." The God of Thunder looked around at the mortals he considered worthy shield brothers and sisters, azure eyes sad but resolute. "I will understand if none of you wish to accompany me on this quest. I have already asked much of you by requesting your presence here today."

Barton sat back in his chair, apparently placated, and an awkward silence descended. It was Stark who coughed meaningfully, then said, "You know, there's always the issue of the stolen relic, or whatever, that the Chitauri took. I mean, I don't know about the rest of you, but I could really get behind the idea of marching right back up to those ugly alien bastards, slamming my fist into their faces a few times, and taking back what's mine."

"And how, precisely, do you know that this stolen relic is yours?" Natasha quipped.

"We'll, that depends on whether it's cool or not," the billionaire grinned. "If it's cool, then I think you'll find that there'll be papers, somewhere, proving my ownership of the missing item. If it's crap," he continued dismissively, "bird face can have it. Might turn his frown upside down."

"Fuck you Stark."

"Oh, I'm _way_ out of your league, Legolas."

"Any ideas what we're looking for, Thor?" Banner leant forward over the table, blatantly ignoring the bickering that was going on beside him. "Or at the very least, where?"

"Alas, I do not friend Banner," Thor responded, the silent assurance of assistance from his companions not lost on the god, even if it needed to be wrapped up in the singular goal of searching for a stolen artefact in order to maintain group cohesion.

"Well, that's just brilliant," Tony whined.

"Actually, I think it's quite brilliant," Bruce replied, giving his friend a lopsided grin. "No preconceived ideas, yeh? Means we're more likely to find it, I'd say."

The billionaire stared at him, and then grinned like a kid in a candy shop. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting Brucey boy? A little one on one time... Just you, me, my workshop, and every single satellite known to man?"

"Something like that."

"Whoa, wait, before you two just up and disappear," Captain Rogers interrupted as the two scientists began to rise from their seats, the meeting forgotten between a heartbeat and an idea. "Could we please just cap off the meeting?" He indicated for them to sit again.

Stark snorted. "'Cap off'? Wow, very good. Did you think of that yourself gramps?" he retorted sarcastically, as he dumped himself bodily back into the leather backed chair.

Steve gave him a look that spoke volumes, to which Stark feigned fear, before turning back to the group and summarising with, "right. Number one, we don't know the truth behind Loki other than there are a number of outstanding questions and some very strong opinions. Nonetheless, as I said earlier, torture is _not_ ok, and neither is Loki escaping justice. So either way, we will be bringing our resident God of Lies home. Agreed?"

"Ay," the Thunderer responded emphatically. The rest of the group either nodded or voiced their agreement in a disorganised manner, expect Barton, who gave Rogers a dour look.

"I need consensus, Barton," Steve said firmly. "You can hate him all you like, but I need you as part of the team on this one."

"Fine," the archer eventually snapped caustically. "But don't make the mistake of thinking I am at all rescuing that fucking wretch from whatever mess he's got himself into. I'm only doing it so that he can be brought to justice where I can know about it."

Captain Rogers simply nodded. "Number two, then," he continued, "is the issue of the missing artefact. We're all agreed that it needs to be found, yes?" No one offered dissent this time. "Good. So presently the plan consists of a, finding Loki and the Chitauri, b, figuring out a way to get there, and c, finding out what they took. Then we'll march over and repossess our items, as it were."

"I think that means it's over to us, for the time being," Stark pointed out smugly. "We'll let you plebs know when there's something for you to do."

"Plebs?" Romanov repeated quietly, her tone affronted.

Just as they were about to leave, Stark turned back to Thor. "Oh, I forgot to ask. How exactly did you get back to earth? I thought the Tesseract was off limits, and the bridge of fairy dusk and unicorns got all smashed up?"

Ignoring the deliberate taunt, Thor explained, his right hand moving unconsciously to where the strange pendant hung about his neck. It vaguely occurred to him then, that the gem had been unusually warm of late.

"Well. That sounds weird as fuck," Stark replied flatly, before turning and leaving with Banner.

Once the scientists had exited the room, the others stood to leave. As Steve rose from his chair, Natasha looked up, frowning as if she'd just remembered something, and catching the soldier's eye asked, "Wasn't Fury supposed to attend this meeting?"

The soldier stared at the assassin for a moment, then growled "Stark!" as he marched from the room, resolutely following the two theorists in the direction of the lab.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the lovely kudos and reviews! Warning for torture and violence in this chapter.

By the time the Chitauri had broken down the door, gaining frenzied entry to the room, the fallen prince had managed to completely destroy more than half the portals. Even those with incomplete connections he'd devastated, ensuring that the space surrounding the construct was unusable. Many creatures across the Nine Realms viewed sorcery as a complex and fragile thing, created from secretive and inscrutable means and disassembled by no less. The first assumption held true - magic was indeed difficult and intricate even to masters of the craft - but the second was laughably incorrect. If one knew well where to aim, even the most complex of spells could be brutally and effectively undone via the precise wielding of a tire iron.

And thus it was that the youngest Asgardian Prince, master of his craft, stood firmly in the middle of a raging maelstrom of fractured energies, slamming a thick metal strut into the seething orbs again and again and again. Frayed and sparking lines of power unwound dangerously over the dais, tumbling through the electric air, burning after images everywhere they touched. If it had been built anywhere else, Loki would have felt a pang of deep regret for taking apart such a beautiful and elegantly fashioned piece of sorcery. But here, outside Creation, it was only perverse and repulsive, and the Trickster could not take the offensive object to pieces fast enough.

The prince was meticulous in his movements notwithstanding the brute force with which he swung the makeshift weapon, his entire body worked to exhaustion with the immense effort. His agile muscles strained, sweat running in rivulets down his temples and back as he desperately fought to stay his rising terror as the door to the room finally gave. He felt his heart stumble and skip a beat as the Chitauri finally breached the threshold, his heaving breath hitching in his throat as he almost gagged in desperate fear. Instead he steeled himself, set his jaw, and redoubled his efforts to decimate their strategically held connection with Creation. He forced from his mind the knowledge that he would soon be made to pay for his actions.

The beasts poured into the room as the Trickster continued to rip the sorcerous construct apart, now hurling the burning remnants down the dais toward their approach. The Chitauri howled in rage upon seeing the devastation, horror settling upon them heavy as snow as they witnessed the destruction of their pathway to the Nine Realms. The Other followed close behind the throng, striding past the wreckage, white fury searing through him like fire. Hissing with a vehemence that made the hair on Loki's neck stand on end, the General motioned sharply for his soldiers to take the young prince down.

The god snarled as they approached, flinging the seething forces down the steps, backing away but refusing to give up his claim on the current orb. Pain seared its way down his arms as the raw energies burnt lines into his skin. Pushing, he wove webs from the unravelled ends, his fingers moving at lightning speed, and frantically threw them out over his advancing captors. They screamed as the unleashed magic encased them, many falling and writhing in their death throes. Taking the opportunity, Loki proceeded to return to the orb before him, ensuring its annihilation was complete with three more precisely placed swings. As the others had before it, the sphere swelled ominously as it came apart, threatening an explosion of raging power. Reaching once more, hissing as the heat licked his already burnt flesh, the God of Mischief grabbed at the imminent eruption, yelling loudly as the energies began to tear their way down his nerves. Then, with one mighty surge of will, he redirected the blast, forcing it down the steps and around the dais, effectively cutting off the Chitarui's advance and forcing them to double around to approach him from behind.

The creatures bellowed their fury, even as Loki stumbled and fell in his exhaustion and pain. His whole body was shaking now, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded from the exertion. He was not going to last much longer under the constant barrage of shredding, wild forces, he knew. With the blasted manacles still sitting tight around his chained wrists, all he had to manipulate the raw sorcery were his naked hands, and constantly plunging them into the fraying ends was slowly burning the essence from them. Presently, he still had their use and would be able to heal from the damage, but if he were to continue much longer...

Shaking such thoughts from his mind, the Trickster scrambled up the steps to the next level, acutely aware of the Chitauri's growing ferocity as they began to spill around the construct, determined to come at him from the other side. Pulling himself unsteadily to his feet, grinding his teeth against the pain in his ankle, he once more lifted the metal bar and blocking out all else, began to bring it down desperately, over and over like the wish of a dying man, into the sphere representing Ālfheimr. Despite his best efforts however, the Chitauri soldiers reached him too soon. The connection to the home of the light elves was damaged but nonetheless remained intact, enough to allow passage, albeit now with a certain amount of significant danger. Loki could not help the stab of intense frustration as he realised he was not going to be able to finish his task, forced to turn away as the first of the soldiers arrived to claim him.

The Trickster spun sharply, bringing the metal strut down hard upon the creature's head, using the momentum as its skull gave way to propel the weapon held in his injured hands toward the next soldier to breach the space. Trapped on the small platform near the peak of the construct gave the prince a minor advantage in that initially, only a few of the creatures could come at him at any one time, allowing him to easily fell them, shoving them bodily down the steps into the waiting arms of the shredding, raw magic below. The advantage was short lived, however, and soon they began to spill over the top and around the sides, surrounding him. They came at him, howling and cursing, free with their weapons and fists. Loki fought back violently and with no small amount of terror, drawing blood until the platform was slick and stacked with the bodies of Chitauri soldiers. Eventually, however, the God of Mischief was overwhelmed, unable to withstand the sheer numbers or constant onslaught of fierce blows. His makeshift weapon was knocked from his fingers, spinning down the steps into the maelstrom, where it lay, slowly melting into a shiny puddle of silver. Losing his balance he fell, instinctively curling into a ball, knees hugged to his chest and arms protecting his head as the blows continued to fall, slowly staining the platform underneath him bright red. He stayed the cries of pain that fought to escape his lips, though, fierce in his determination to give the monsters nothing that they desired, to show no weakness.

It was with a sharp, loud order from The Chitauri General below that the assault abruptly ceased, and the god was dragged from the dais, cursing, bleeding, and struggling wildly in spite of his injuries. He was thrown roughly at The Other's feet, physically forced this time to submit. The Chitauri pushed the fighting god down, holding him prostrate in front of their leader with heavy boots and strong arms. The General, still stained with his own blood by Loki's hand, seething with unchecked fury, had to stop himself from reaching down and breaking the godling then and there.

Loki felt his shackled hands pulled forward then, away from the protection of his body, the butt of a spear placed firmly within the link of a chain to keep them in place. Instinctively he jerked his arms, fighting to pull them back towards himself as dread reared itself like a snake in his stomach. His efforts gained him a swift kick to the side. He bit his tongue sharply at the sudden pain but his armour bore the brunt of it and the blow left him with only a bruise.

The god became still as the Chitauri increased the force with which they held him, the threat of broken bones staying his struggles; inviting more injury would not assist his cause for escape. Held there by his captors, Loki felt his burning anger wrap itself neatly around the steadily increasing core of terror that refused to abate. There followed a tense silence that seemed to fill and expand with the promise of suffering, becoming so taut that Loki felt as though the very air around him might crush him to dust.

"Accursed  _wretch_." The Other's words came eventually, low and sinister, a cold hiss that sounded like nails drawing across a chalkboard and full of raw fury.

Loki wasn't able to suppress the shudder than ran the length of his body. Fear rose like bile in the back of his throat and though he fought for control, he could not stop his limbs from shaking. The malevolence in The Other's words was primal and pure, and touched those parts of Loki's hind brain that now screamed at him to flee. He clung to his anger as panic threatened to consume him, determined to maintain control; he would not surrender to these monsters.  _Would_  not show weakness.

"Release me this  _instant_ ," came the God of Mischief's muffled, icy reply in open defiance of both The General's unspoken demand for obedience, and his own spiralling terror.

The Other made a low, bestial growl in the back of its throat. "You play  _at_  insubordination  _godling_ , but your fear is  _evident_. As  _well_  it should be. Your fear is indeed satisfying, but I would  _hear_  you  _scream_."

The Trickster hissed, reaching for his rage. Raising his head so suddenly that the soldiers holding him let up their pressure momentarily, he spat at The Other's feet.

The Chitauri around him snarled, grabbing his hair and slamming his face back into the rough, hard floor. Pain erupted in his head and nose, sharp flashes of light dancing behind his tightly closed eyelids. He could feel something warm start to trickle its way down his eyes, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. But for a short in-rushing of air through closed teeth however, he remained silent. His limbs continued to shake, but whether from fear or fury now, he was not sure.

The Other gave a cold, alien laugh that made Loki's skin crawl. "You  _are_  so persistent in your  _efforts_  to invite punishment. And punishment you  _shall_ receive." The General paused, then, "You  _have_  used your hands to destroy the  _pathways_  to the Nine Realms, to take them from me. And so it is only fitting  _that_  I return your actions in kind. Watch,  _little god_ , as I take from you that  _which_  you would deem so precious."

Loki felt his hair once more grabbed, his head yanked back so forcefully that his neck screamed in protest. His eyes widened at the sight of The Chitauri General's heavy iron boot, poised threateningly over his injured left hand. The Trickster did panic then, knowing that any further damage to his already wounded hands would be impossible to fully heal.

Watching the dark haired prince suddenly begin to struggle, The Other smiled in a sickening fashion. "It pleases me  _that_  you understand the situation so  _acutely_." With that, he brought his foot to bear on the restrained god's outstretched hand.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, catching the tears that threatened to come, unable to turn his head or hide his expression of overt pain as the soldiers ruthlessly held him in place. He clenched his jaw until he felt his teeth grind. He would  _not_  scream. He would  _never_  scream for them. Never again.

The Other was slow, cruel in his torture. He snapped the young prince's bones slowly, gradually increasing the pressure until they gave under his weight, finally shattering with a sickening sound. Loki's breathing was shallow and tremulous now, his face pale as ice as he fought to hold his screams at bay behind clenched teeth. The pain was extreme, and it seemed an eternity before The Other deemed the hand beyond repair and finally withdrew. Loki had no time to assess the injury though, as The Other planted his leg firmly upon the other hand, and commenced the torture anew. This time, Loki couldn't quite keep silent, and a strangled cry escaped his lips. This seemed to please the surrounding Chitauri, who hissed with delight.

Finally, the bone-breaking pressure relented. The Chitauri continued to restrain the god though, and Loki opened his eyes to survey the damage. He could have cried at the sight. His hands were a mess. Bruised and twisted as the snapped bones continued to bleed, they had already started to swell. There was blood everywhere, and he could see areas where the white shine of his fractured skeleton had broken through the skin. The God of Mischief closed his eyes again, forcing the images from his mind, determined not to yield. He was anything if resilient; he would work around the impediment.

He felt his head shoved roughly back to the floor again, his broken hands still held out in front of him ensuring he continued to feel his current vulnerability.

"Such  _will_  be your fate every time you are summoned. Until you are  _unable_  to heal any part of  _them_ , and they remain as  _worthless_  as  _you_  are." The Other watched the silent god as he continued to shake, his suffering evident by the tension in the muscles along his shoulders. He reached a foot out and tapped one of the Trickster's hands, smiling viciously when this drew a sharp breath from his prey below. He narrowed his eyes then, and said, "yet,  _you_  refuse to scream for me.  _Such_  disobedience will not be tolerated. I will have you scream before you are  _taken_  from this room, _godling_."

The General made a sharp gesture, and Loki was hauled to his feet, his face contorted in pain as his hands were dragged momentarily along the floor. Once upright, though, he struggled against his captors, spitting curses, his face murderous in the face of their brutality.

The Other curled his lip in a snarl at this show of defiance and snapped, " _shackle_  him."

There was little Loki could do to resist them as they produced a collar and chains; their numbers were simply too great and his injuries were beginning to exhaust him. They snapped an all too familiar collar about his neck, and forced his hands up near it, using the shackles already about his wrists to connect chains from them to his throat. They grabbed and twisted his hands in the process, and the Trickster bucked and jerked in pain yet still refused to make a sound. Then, they clamped manacles around his ankles, over his boots, and connected them both to each other, and his hands above. When done, they stepped back, releasing their grips from the god who now stood still and rigid, glaring a thunderous expression at them but knowing the futility of struggling against that which he could not break. There was a single chain that ran from the front of the collar which was now grasped firmly in the hand of a Chitauri soldier, and two long thick metal poles attached to each side of its back, one ending just posterior to each of Loki's knees. Both hung heavily from the place where they attached to the collar, constantly pulling the unfortunate occupant backwards, causing them to gradually tire from the exertion of remaining upright. Their use was variable and wicked, as Loki had learned from his last detainment by the Chitauri; from slamming him into walls, to hooking him to the ceiling until his feet almost left the ground, choking the air out of his lungs slowly and painfully.

The Other approached him, his fury not yet dissipated, although there was now a certain air of satisfaction about the way he moved. Loki stood his ground, fire and revulsion in his sharp green eyes. The Other reached out a grotesque hand to grab the Trickster's face, then drew it back sharply as Loki snapped his teeth at the limb.

The General growled. "Muzzle him."

Loki fought the soldiers once more when they came at him with a metal contraption. He had already lost his hands, to lose his voice as well was unacceptable. With his gift of words he could still gain ground, potentially give himself an advantage. Without it, he would be stranded, exposed, unable to manipulate or convince or bargain.

"No, wait!" He tried not to sound desperate. "If you take my voice how will you possibly hear me scream?" It was a taunt, a challenge and laced with scorn. Certainly not the best argument, but then he had very little to work with under the circumstances.

The Chitauri hesitated then, looking to their master who tilted his head in consideration. Loki felt a twinge of hope spring unbidden in his chest, only to be crushed when The General responded nastily, "I  _will_  hear them well enough. And you  _speak_  out of  _turn_. Muzzle him."

They brought him to his knees then, driving him to the floor using the poles attached to the back of the collar. His ruined ankle screamed in protest as the chains pulled at it awkwardly. Loki continued to fight and snap at them with his teeth, until his broken hands were grabbed roughly causing him to wrench his body backwards, his head thrown back in torment as he clamped his mouth tightly shut against the pain. They defeated him, in that moment, strapping the cold, unforgiving metal firmly to his face, stilling his tongue and biting sharp edges into his mouth. It was not the first time they had forced him to wear it, and already he could feel blood starting to well and trickled down his throat from where the steel edges bit deeply into his skin.

Once more they hauled him to his feet, and once more he glowered at them. He could not bite at The Other's hand, this time, when he reached out to grab the Trickster's face. Loki jerked his head away, nonetheless, but there was nowhere for him to go and the General was quick to clamp a rough hand around his jaw and cheeks, his grip threatening to snap bone. Loki defiantly glared at the monster before him, refusing to avert his gaze.

"You  _persist_  in breaking the Rules.  _It_  seems we will have to retrain you,  _after_  all." The Other grinned viciously then, showing far too many blood-stained teeth. "You will  _suffer_ , for your impertinence, and then you  _will_  suffer because it  _pleases_  me. Your  _Master_  will see to the remainder of your punishment for the destruction you  _have_  wrought here."

Loki went cold, his heart constricting in his chest. His sudden abject terror must have shown on his face for The Other looked pleased, saying, "Your _Master_  is eager to see you,  _godling_. But first, you must  _scream_ , and then be punished  _before_  you are rewarded with the... pleasure of  _His_ company."

The General released his face forcefully, bruises already beginning to form where his fingers had been. Loki felt a rolling wave a nausea overwhelm him as the mention of  _Him_  fanned the dread inside his stomach like an eager flame. He fought to control it, knowing too well the outcome when he vomited with the gag in place. The Chitauri saw him retch though, and jeering, took it upon themselves to punch him brutally in the stomach, over and over until he could no longer keep the bile down. They cheered as he started to vomit violently, bile burning his nose as it poured out of the only exit it could find, the rest collecting in his mouth until he began to choke and cough, desperately trying to swallow it back down so that he could breath. He doubled over, falling to his knees, black hair hanging loosely over his face as he suffocated abruptly, tears falling from his eyes as the contents of his stomach found its way into this lungs, burning his chest. He remained that way, choking and coughing, aspirating vomit and lightheaded from the lack of air for many minutes, until he was able to force himself to swallow the bile down and keep it there.

When he was next dragged to his feet, Loki sagged between his abusers, his head still spinning as black spots danced in his vision. He was slapped several times, until his head cleared and he was able to stand, attempting to wrench himself away from the assault on his face. When the soldiers saw that he could remain upright they released him, and his vision returned to him even as his irritated lungs continued to cough up bile into his mouth. His eyes widened in horror then, as he looked upon where they had placed him. He was standing, shackled and injured, struggling to breath and hacking up shuddering coughs, mere inches from the raging unchecked energies of raw destruction that now surrounded the front two thirds of the dais. He flinched and tried to back away in a sudden panic, but two large guards had taken hold of the metal rods attached to the collar and were holding him firmly in place.

The Other bared his teeth in the pretence of a smile, and said, "you will  _scream_  for me, useless  _wretch_."

The General then threw a sharp gesture at the two Chitauri holding the God of Mischief steady, and, bracing themselves against the rods, they pushed Loki bodily into the seething maelstrom.


	15. Chapter 15

Loki did not remember being dragged back to the cell.

He didn't remember much, either, of the raw broken magic that had lashed his body. He only remembered intense agony as his nerves were flayed, white hot pain lancing through him, burning down to sinew and bone as the fractured forces tore him apart from the inside out. He knew he had screamed, though, screamed and screamed until his voice was raw. His native Seiðr had saved him in a sense, preventing him from being unravelled from his very core. But in doing so he had only suffered more, as the essence of his magic was ripped and shredded, parts of it completely undone by the raging sorcerous fire.

They discarded him roughly, like he was no more than unwanted trash, iron fetters clanking in the gloom, on the floor of the tiny dungeon room. Then they left him, shutting the heavy door behind them, the place descending into darkness so black that not even light could escape. The bolt slide firmly into place, metal grinding on stone, and Loki's breath caught somewhere in his chest as he realised that the sound from his nightmares was once more made real.

He lay there for a while, shackled, silenced, shocked, and shaking violently. He couldn't move at first, barely breathe even as bile and fire fought for dominance over his damaged lungs. His breaths came in ragged gasps that seemed to burn and tear at his chest; his entire body felt as if it were still alight. He could feel his skin peeling and sloughing in the places where his armour had offered no protection, and beyond the constant roar of blood in his ears he could hear something whimpering; animalistic, primal. He prayed to the Norns that it wasn't him, but dimly recognised that hope to be in vain. Hope did not exist in places where the darkness was deeper than the void itself. Prayers were not heard here.

How long he lay there drifting through layers of delirious consciousness, every part of him screaming incomprehensibly, he did not know. In spite of his injuries though, his bound Seiðr even, he nonetheless began slowly, to heal. His skin began to knit itself together, granulating to form new, pink, tender flesh. His nerves rewound themselves, forming connections and networks that allowed him to once more control his limbs. Muscle and bone strengthened as layers of osseous tissue were woven anew. Even his hands, mangled as they were, began to come together, although the lines upon which the healing coursed had been rent asunder, the restoration doomed to incompletion. It was slow, though, painfully slow, and Loki knew he wouldn't be fully healed by the time they returned. Even so, the intense anguish, the fire that had smouldered unfettered beneath his skin, began to lessen. His breathing stilled, and the deep creases that ran across his forehead smoothed as his body began to release its tension, tightly shut eyes slackening as if now simply in sleep.

The exhaustion was overwhelming, and as he mended sleep beckoned. With her gentle fingers she reached out to the God of Mischief as he lay discarded on the cold floor, limbs pulled awkwardly by the unforgiving shackles. He resisted her sweet promises of safe repose though, knowing her whispers to be nothing but vile lies. For others, perhaps, slumber brought warmth and that deep, dark restfulness of unconsciousness. For him though, since the monsters beyond the roots of Yggdrasil had reached out to claim him, sleep only brought screaming night terrors – hidden things that snaked their tentacles about him, grasping, tearing, violating – that he could no more fight or resist that the wisps of smoke from a spent candle.

So he fought sleep, even as the deprivation began to pull him into an embrace of disorientation and restlessness and he knew,  _knew_  he would regret his own obstinance later. Still, as the unrelenting agony began to lessen and he was once more able to command his disjointed thoughts, the God of Mischief resisted slumber and instead extended the fingers of his consciousness deep into his own being. Breaking the surface from the material to the immaterial was, as always, a shock at first – like being suddenly submerged in icy water whilst in the throes of a fever – and it took him a moment to regain equilibrium. But then he was present within himself and he reached outwards, seeking the fabric of his Seiðr, scrutinising, tracing the lines of sorcery to assess the extent of damage done by the ravaging touch of the broken construct. His magic flowed and tumbled like a living stream from his very soul, pouring from every cell, every atom that held him together, no more separate from himself that the breath upon his lips. The more he saw, though, the more horror opened itself up like a yawning pit in the bottom of his stomach. For everywhere he looked there were large gashes, great rifts where the tapestry had been shredded and then dissolved away.

He withdrew abruptly, intensely shaken. The stark realisation that his magic, his lifeblood, had been wrenched from him struck him deep in his core. He felt sick suddenly, and for the second time since being seized he fought desperately to control his gag reflex.

He failed.

This time, thankfully, there was very little to bring up, and though a little bile burnt its way down his nose he mostly dry retched into the muzzle. When the nausea had passed he lay still, a deep despair settling itself within him as he faced the possibility of being forever crippled, scars etched deeper than skin.

Loki pulled his eyebrows down, then, furrowing his brow as his thoughts began to spiral down into that wide chasm of gloom that could see a soul endlessly lost in the shadows of dusk. This place did that to a mind, he knew, knew all too well in fact with the constant barrage of darkness, and pain, and torture. One could lose themselves to that. But he was not anyone. He was  _Loki_. God of Mischief. Prince of Asgard, no matter how disregarded or forgotten. Warrior. And he would  _not_  yield, would not surrender to the twisted monsters that sought to bring him to his knees. He would defy them. And when he was free - for he  _would_  escape this place if it took every last shred of will he had - he would find a way to heal his injuries, and then he would return and visit every last mote of his wrath upon this damned place. He would rip them apart, tear them to pieces with a finesse that would breed nothing short of unspeakable agony and then he would  _break_  them, bring them to their knees at his feet, screaming for mercy while he reduced them to naught but ash with the very hands they sought to destroy.

By the time the Chitauri returned, bolt once more grinding sparks against thick stone that saw the God of Mischief flinching in rising panic even in his dreams, Loki had managed to fan the small flicker of rage left in the aftermath of his torture into a seething wildfire, wrapping it about himself as if it were a protective blanket. As light flooded the cell, blinding him momentarily, he shuffled his arms and legs, pushing away the pain that flared with the movement. Master of deception, the Trickster made a pretence of manoeuvring his body as if to make himself prostrate before his would-be assailants. He would not voluntarily bow before such creatures though, he was a  _God_  and the very idea repulsed him, but neither would he invite further suffering upon himself. Instead he used his body to weave an illusion – a subtle positioning of limbs, a slight tensing of muscles here, the smallest of tremors there – which they, the dim-witted creatures, would easily fall prey to. For in witnessing his skilful glamour they would undoubtedly believe that submitting was his  _intent_ ; a cowed and terrified prisoner attempting to appease their inevitable wrath. But they were impatient brutes, and his tardiness from injury would frustrate their need for subservience and they would grab and pull, physically forcing him to kowtow at their feet. And thus he would be made to submit, but not of his own accord, and The Other would not have deemed him to have broken any of the Rules.

Chitauri soldiers spilled into the room, followed closely by The Other whose footfalls echoed an aura of dominance over everyone present. As predicted, the soldiers sneered as they witnessed what they presumed to be the injured god's attempts to submit in his weakness and fear, and, unable to wait, fell upon his person. They were not gentle in their handling of him, and the Trickster found that he did not have to pretend the harsh grunts of pain he was originally planning on rewarding them with for their efforts.

And then The Other was there, standing above him, and Loki couldn't quite command the fear that gripped him.

"It is pleasing  _to_  see you have remembered  _how_  to submit," he intoned harshly, and the Trickster indulged in the small smirk that adorned his lips behind the muzzle. "However  _youngling_ , you have many transgressions  _to_  answer. Fifty-four  _times_  you have broken the Rules,  _and_  fifty-four times you shall be punished."

Loki felt his blood run cold.

Fifty-four? He would not survive fifty-four. When they had tended to him last, before he had attempted to make a run for it via Midgard, they had seen fit to punish him for four transgressions in between their other abuses, and he had barely survived. The severity of their 'punishments' far outstripped anything they passed as generalised mistreatment, and it was apparent that this time disciplining him for his supposed delinquency was all they were interested in visiting upon him.

"Stretch out your hands."

Loki's breath caught in his throat. He felt his entire body tense as his carefully cultivated rage began to wane under the growing onslaught of terror that was making his skin slick with sweat. The Other's words wormed their way, unwanted, into his memory –  _until you are unable to heal any part of them, and they remain as worthless as you are_. There was no element of shock to the God of Mischief's increasing panic, however, never having doubted that the grotesque monster would remain true to his promise. He always did.

The Trickster's thoughts skittered frantically about his head as he attempted desperately to formulate a way out of this mess. Every pathway brought him only to a dead end: he could not verbalise his way to an egress, still being silenced by the gag; if he refused he would simply be forced and later made to pay for his disobedience, another transgression added to the list; physical escape was not currently an option, as he was still restrained by shackles and currently too weak to walk more than a few steps.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut tightly, beating back the desperation that threatened to blur his vision with unwanted dampness. He saw the options laid out, stark and brutal, in front of him. There were no alternatives. There were never any alternatives. But he was good at lying, including to himself –  _especially to himself_  – and so he rationalised, desperately, that it was of no consequence, really, considering the current state of his hands, and that he couldn't heal them fully whilst in this Hel hole anyway.

And so, with no small amount of trepidation, disgusted at himself for submitting so readily, the God of Mischief slowly pushed his raw arms forward, surrendering his already ruined hands to The Other. The Chitauri General did not dally, and proceeded to crush the god's delicate hands afresh. The pain was far greater this time, and the prince was unable to completely stay his muted cries as bones and skin splintered and bled anew. He struggled, at first, as pain overwhelmed his ability to remain still, but then the guards were there, restraining him roughly. In spite of his suffering though Loki caught his tears, unwavering in his determination that whilst The Other may break his hands irreparably, he would not, would  _not_  allow the heinous monstrosity to break him to weep.

When it was done, Loki did not look up. He did not want to see this time. Instead he tried to collect himself, fought to bring his thoughts back from the hazy edges of agony and fear where they were scattered, like so many leaves from a dying tree. He had little time though, for The Other spoke again, his voice stark and grating, steel screaming on stone as he commanded the god to get up.

Loki fought to comply, fought to rise as limbs that refused to respond seized and shuddered under him. He pushed up using his arms, mutilated hands lancing ribbons of raw pain every time he moved. His entire body screamed as he struggled to stand, eventually stumbling backwards and falling bodily into the wall. The chains clanked obtrusively in the oppressive silence, his legs tremorous as Loki tried to steady them under him, endeavouring to stand straight. The Trickster glared at the rough floor of the cell as he was forced to succumb to his body's weakness and remained, breathing hard from the exertion, slumped half-upright against the wall.

The Other narrowed his eyes. "I  _ordered_  you up, you worthless half- _breed_. You shall stand, or I shall have  _your_  legs broken."

Loki swallowed against a throat that seemed lined with saw dust and clenched his jaw, hating the way he quivered slightly at the threat. But he pushed, knowing that standing unsteadily, deigning to obey, was far preferable to the promise of unusable legs. Reaching deep, clutching at the last remnants of physical energy, he thrust himself from the wall where he was currently half-sagged and staggered precariously, dizzily, to his feet. He swayed for a moment before his head cleared, limping until he found his centre.

The General watched the wounded god silently, malicious satisfaction in his eyes. When the dark-haired prince was finally still, he grated, " _Such_  weakness. Such a miserable waste  _of_  space. How easily you play...  _ergi_ ," he spat, viciously hurling the insult he had learned from his violations of the Trickster's mind, "to me. I fail  _to_  understand why your so-called family  _took_  so long to throw a pathetic  _nīðing_  such as yourself off their bridge."

Behind his muzzle Loki snarled, face flushing with outrage. He raised blazing emerald eyes to The Other's face, openly declaring his challenge to the foul words. His blood broiled with affronted indignation; the offence stung deeply, seeping down to his very bones as his mind screamed for the right to hólmganga. He would kill in retaliation for such slights.

But The Other simply grinned, upper lip curling back from his teeth. "Please,  _godling_ , break the Rules," he hissed as the god dared to raise his gaze to the General's face, " _give_  me more excuses  _to_  visit pain upon you, to make you scream so  _sweetly_. It only pleases me more,  _your_  futile defiance, when I come to  _break_  you." The Trickster did not flinch at the words, did not move, only continued to glare his blinding fury as The Other merely laughed, cold and cruel and sickening. The creature twitched slightly, turning to throw his voice back at his minions. "Heat  _the_  room, for his disobedience."

Loki simply flared his nostrils in dismissal, entire body straining with a livid rage that was barely kept in check.

"You will not think  _it_  so inconsequential, worthless cur, when  _the_  heat presses upon you and you struggle to  _draw_  breath." Then, without turning around he snapped, "bring the  _shackles_."

Loki continued to stand, holding himself stiff and unmoving, ignoring the tremors that danced their way through his taut muscles as he stared furiously at The Other. The Chitauri General simply returned the expression with one of cold amusement, as the soldiers carried into the room something heavy and cruel. Loki did shift his gaze then, the slightest increase in the whites of his eyes showing he recognised the newest instrument of his torture; a set of heavy shackles and a collar which the soldiers held carefully between them. The insides of each thick metal band was lined with numerous sharp, nail-like spikes, which were covered thickly in the pearly blue sheen of a poison designed to rend the body with pain, and visit horrifying hallucinations upon its host. The collar and manacles would sit lightly around the victim, sharp points abutting the skin, commanding them to remain motionless lest their flesh be breached and the ravaging poison enter their bloodstream. Thereafter they would buck and convulse and scream as insanity and agony claimed their body and mind, causing the cruel spikes to impale and rip and shred further as they soiled themselves with vomit and waste, blood staining everything.

In spite of his anger, the God of Mischief recoiled.

When they grabbed him, reaching with their hands so as to remove the current collar that they might affix the new one about his pale neck, he fought them, even though he knew it to be in vain. They overpowered him easily, holding him immobile as they secured the new metal band about his skin, closing it with a heavy click that made him feel ill. Then they simply stepped back, sneering their amusement as Loki fought to hold himself as if paralysed.

"Strip his armour," The Other commanded shortly.

The Chitauri soldiers complied, and Loki remained deathly still, eyes closed and jaw tight, not daring to move or give his tormentors cause to jostle his person. They were liberal with their hands, and more than once did the God of Mischief breathe in sharply through his nose as his body was assaulted in places that made his skin crawl with disgust. He had to hold his breath tightly through the intense pain, too, as his burnt skin was peeled away with the protective shielding it had adhered to. Finally they were done, though, discarding the armour in a corner, leaving him to stand, acutely exposed in nothing more than his flimsy smalls; a tunic top and thin slacks.

The Other looked him over appraisingly. "Better.  _Hold_  out your arms."

The god did not dare do anything other than obey, and instantly hated himself for it. The Chitauri snapped the new manacles about his compliant arms, just proximal to the shackles that continued to bind his Seiðr. Loki could feel the temperature of the room beginning to rise, and already his thin undergarments were becoming damp with sweat. Drops of perspiration beaded on his forehead, threatening to slip over the ridge of his brows and into his eyes as his exposed skin began to protest the heavy air that hung over his body.

" _Kneel_ ," The General commanded then, his face twisted into some perverse parody of a smile, as he pointed to a spot along the wall.

The prince steeled himself, and with the care and grace of someone stepping on eggshells made of glass, moved silently to the allotted space and sunk to his knees. There they chained him to the wall – collar bound just slightly too close, forcing him to strain backwards uncomfortably, hands lifted high above his head and secured such that he had to hold them aloft, blood draining away from his wrecked and swollen fingers. Then they shackled his ankles in a similar fashion, binding them to the uneven stone.

The Other stalked across the space, stopping mere inches from his victim and towering his full height over the stricken god. Loki gripped his anger closer to his heart, incensed that he could no longer check his trembling, that The Other was slowly but surely reducing him to nothing more than a quailing, pathetic child, fearful of disobeying its betters. The Trickster battled to reign in his fury, keeping his eyes firmly planted at the Chitauri General's feet, knowing that any step outside of The Other's loathsome Rules would see the monster gladly pushing the collar into his neck, piercing skin and letting the poison breech his blood. And he would  _not_  suffer these disgusting miscreations to openly watch and enjoy his anguish. He  _would not_. He would remain unmoving, determined to outlast their care to wait for his pain, and remind them that he was a  _god_  rather than some miserable, feeble mortal who would readily submit to the weaknesses of his body. He would  _not_  allow the poison to penetrate his flesh. He  _would_  remain immobile; the spikes would not  _touch_  him.

The God of Mischief did not resist, this time, when The Chitauri General reached out towards his face. Without warning the creature grabbed the metal gag, pulling it roughly from him. Loki felt the skin around his mouth tear and begin to bleed, pooling between his teeth and sliding down his chin. For a split second he reflexively contracted his tongue, ready to spit blood and bile at The Other, but he caught himself at the last minute and forced himself to swallow the vile bolus instead.

Stepping back, The General idly twisted the sharp edges of the gag in his hands. He looked down at his spoil, almost dismissively for a moment, before saying, " _This_... scrap," he waved a malformed hand at the god's discarded armour, "it is important  _to_  you, yes?"

The skin around Loki's eyes tightened slightly. "Inasmuch as it affords me protection in battle, yes, it is important to me, my Lord." His voice was scratchy and hoarse.

"Do not test  _me_ , little god, for I  _will_  surely smite you as you kneel before me. You understand the meaning  _of_  my question. Answer  _it_."

Loki's eyes flashed, nostrils flaring as he answered, stiffly, "yes, my Lord, my armour holds special meaning for me."

The General clicked his teeth together in satisfaction. "Very good," he almost purred, then, " _tell_  me why."

Loki's throat tightened as his anger began to unravel from his firmly controlled will. The Other had defiled his mind, last time, pawing carelessly through memories, thoughts... through secrets and emotions held so deeply that the Trickster kept them locked away from even himself. He had resisted, fighting with a ferocity that would have put even Thor to shame, but he had not been able to protect enough of himself from The Other's oppressive hold. And so The Other  _knew_. He  _knew_  the answers to his questions. Questions now used to violate, to expose, to strip away any mental defences that Loki might endeavour to employ. And Loki  _hated_  him for it. Hated him so deeply and so intensely that he felt like the very centre of his being was on fire.

"It was gifted to me, my Lord." The Trickster's voice was tight, flat. He would answer the question asked, nothing more.

"Upon what occasion?"

The God of Mischief closed his eyes briefly, the overwhelming heat beginning to make him feel light-headed. He sought desperately to wet parched lips as he answered, "The helmet upon earning the title of warrior. The rest when I reached majority, my Lord."

" _And_  who gifted these... distasteful items  _of_  refuse to you?"

Loki did not bother to hesitate. "Odin, Frigga, and Thor, my Lord." The words were spoken carefully, precisely, without emotion.

The General bared his teeth, like a beast about to corner its prey. "Your  _family_?"

Loki opened his mouth and closed it again. A jumble of emotions flicked across his face momentarily, before he responded, carefully neutral, "those who took me from Jötunheimr and would have me call them family, yes, my Lord."

The Other twitched, fisting the muzzle tightly, and Loki was certain for a moment that the abhorrent creature was going to step forward and strike him down. Instead, The Other paused, before slowly placing his hand deliberately and forcefully about the god's face and driving the gag back upon his mouth.

"It  _will_  not concern you then," came the irritated reply, " _when_  it burns for  _the_  waste it is."

Loki choked out a strangled sound, staring as if paralysed as a guard proceeded to douse his armour in oil and then toss a flame upon the pile. The heap caught instantaneously, red hot fire roaring into life as it curled and danced in hues of orange and yellow, devouring the armour like a raging beast. Metal and leather alike twisted and melted, puddling into liquid silver and ash upon the stones. The fire cracked and sputtered, embers skittering across the floor as the crushing heat rolled over Loki's body and thick oily smoke filled his nose. He fought to prevent himself from coughing. He could feel his eyes begin to water, and told himself it was because of the smoke, angrily pushing down the intense, rising anguish, ignoring the way his heart felt like it was constricting painfully in his chest.

His armour...

_"To receive one's armour is a great gift, Loki, for it marks your passage into manhood..."_

His armour...

_"A warrior's armour is sacred to him, son, and you must care for it as such, for it will be with you always..."_

His armo-

_Sentiment._

He spat the word at the walls of his mind.

Sentiment was for  _children_.  _CHILDREN_.

It would serve him  _no_  use here. No use  _anywhere_.

He did not care.

_He DID NOT care._

It was  _nothing_  to him...

...

... Nothing.

The Other watched him, expression unreadable, as the flames reflected themselves in the god's jade green eyes. He watched as the god's struggling emotions fought each other for dominance behind a carefully constructed mask of impassivity, his devastated grief nonetheless betrayed by his shocked stare. The General smiled, then, a twitching of muscles that was tight and unkind, and without saying another word left the room, guards following obediently behind. The bolt ground home with a sickening sound and Loki was left alone, chained to the wall, unable to move, blistering heat pressing down around him, left with only the suffocating darkness and smouldering ruins of his former life.


	16. Chapter 16

It had been three days since the meeting which had bred the Avenger's current mission, now known as 'mission: Chitauri smack-down' thanks to Tony's persistence. The two scientists had not emerged from the lab once during that time, somehow sustaining themselves on an apparently endless supply of coffee and microwave popcorn. Initially, Thor had ventured down to the expansive tech-filled room twice a day in the desperate hope that his two team mates had found his younger brother, but after the fifth time of being treated to the Thunderer's 'god-of-abandoned-puppies' face, the two physicist had ceremoniously banned everyone who was not Pepper from the workshop.

This had not prevented the inevitable acrimonious conference call between Stark and Fury however, which had occurred when Jarvis' protocols had been overridden on the afternoon of third day. Tony, who by now had declared that any further interruptions would result in ritualistic defenestration, had thrown a well-aimed white board marker at the problem and hit the disconnect button with a disturbing amount of practiced accuracy.

"Sir, it would appear that my ability to terminate calls has also been overridden," Jarvis' dispassionate voice supplied.

Stark squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before turning around to face the large screen that stretched itself over the far wall. Said screen presently held a large, rather cross looking Nick Fury on it, his form stretched to gigantic proportions across the pixelated display.

"Nick! What a very  _pleasant_  surprise!" The billionaire plastered a large, overtly fake smile on his boyish face. "And as much as this has been just  _great_ , I'm afraid that me and my good friend Bruce here are just  _crazy_  busy, so if you wouldn't mind calling back in, oh, say, never, that'd be just peachy." Stark punctuated his words with two thumbs up before turning his back to the screen and continuing with a string of incomprehensible numbers that seemed to be no more than a scrawl across a clear white board.

Bruce snorted.

Fury's expression hardened. Ignoring the billionaire's invitation to leave, he said, "Would you care to explain, Stark, why you neglected to call me in on the Avengers meeting, which occurred  _three days ago_?"

"Not really, no."

The spy took a slow, tightly controlled breath through his nose, then narrowed his good eye and leaned back in the black leather chair currently holding him. When he next spoke, it was with the calm air of someone who was used to confronting obstacles much more formidable than a pair of irate scientists. "I understand that you're planning on infiltrating Chitauri space in order to retrieve some mystery stolen object, along with Loki."

Stark paused mid-equation. After muttering something about spies and uncivilised nosiness, he turned around and crossed his arms defensively across his chest. "What of it?"

"'What of it', is that as director of S.H.I.E.L.D I haven't authorised any such mission."

"I don't remember asking your permission."

"Well, seeing as you've recalled  _my_  agents from the field, along with the fact that the Avengers initiative is within the perview of S.H.I.E.L.D, I'd say there's a damn good reason for you to require my authorisation before proceeding. Not to mention that this mission of yours is questionable at best."

Stark scoffed. "Oh please. Just because we responded to your very manly plea for help once, doesn't mean you automatically get ownership of us."

Fury arched an eyebrow. "Actually, that's exactly what it means. And you know as well as I do that without government support you're nothing more than a group of vigilantes. And governments don't tend to play well with vigilantes."

"What exactly are you saying, Nick?" Stark took a threatening step forwards.

"What I'm saying,  _Tony_ ," the director responded, his tonesharp, "is that without the support of S.H.I.E.L.D you're going to find it very difficult to accomplish anything productive. I hold a hell of a lot of keys that you might just find highly useful."

Stark opened his mouth to retort, face pulled into a mask of annoyance, but Banner cut him off. Suddenly pushing himself from the table edge where he'd been leaning, the doctor's abrupt tone readily betrayed his nonchalant demeanour. "Alright! Great, so you want to support us? I can think of a few ways you could be of assistance."

Fury was instantly wary, although whether this was because of Banner's restrained outburst or his undefined request it was uncertain. He narrowed his eye again. "Go on."

"Well, you could give us Loki's sceptre for one, and the device Selvig used to open the portal. Access to military satellites would be handy as well."

Fury's cheek twitched slightly as he gave Banner a calculating look. Instead of responding to the doctor's demands he said, "Why, exactly, should help you with this mission? Or  _approve_  it, even." He gave Stark a hard look.

Stark set his jaw and jabbed his finger at the image of Fury's face, but before he could voice his dissent Banner cut over him again. "I would've expected that to be  _rather_  obvious, even if your sources didn't give you a word by word account." He let the subtle insult sink in before continuing. "The Chitauri have stolen something from Earth. We want to know what  _and_  we want it back. The idea of a warmongering alien race lurking about god knows where with some 'mystery object' as you so succinctly put it just doesn't sit that well with us. Loki... well, to be honest, I don't think there's group consensus on that particular issue." When Fury arched a questioning eyebrow, Banner sighed, shifting awkwardly. "Look, nobody trusts him any farther than he could be thrown by a nine year old girl, but there are some who are willing to... consider that perhaps we don't have the entire picture."

"And what picture is that, exactly?"

"That our resident god of crazy is being tortured by his supposed allies," Stark snapped, no longer able to contain himself.

The director frowned. "Loki's dysfunctional relationships are his own business. I'm not sure I see how interfering in it will serve us any advantage. I  _do_ , however, see lots of potential disadvantages."

"The advantage," Banner answered, shooting a sidelong glance as his team mate, who was now glaring at the spy, knuckles white, "is that Thor cares. A lot. And you know what? You were right... before. There are threats out there that we're just not prepared for. But maybe if we could make some... friends... if Thor's people were, say, grateful to us for some reason... Look, even if Loki is just scheming with the Chitauri, it sounds like his family want him back pretty badly, and given we're going to be in the vicinity re-appropriating our stolen goods in any case," Banner gave a lopsided shrug, "I don't see how it's not to our advantage, actually. At least it'll mean the god of loony isn't off causing trouble where we can't see him."

Fury pursed his lips for a moment, the skin around his eyes tightening. "And yet I'm still struggling to see how chasing after some random item and potentially pissing off the Chitauri, who I'm not certain we could easily defeat a second time round, all on the say so of an extra-terrestrial with a vested interest is anything close to rational or is totally besides the point that the idea of bringing Loki, the being who almost caused New York to become a smoking crater, anywhere near Earth is so far beyond insane that padded cells have seen more sensible ideas. So why, in God's name, should I let you anywhere near this with a ten foot pole?"

Stark had had enough.

"Oh for the love of all things not completely moronic!" he snapped crossly. "Shall I make a god-damned list for you? The Chituari stole something from Earth using a serious amount of stealth, and from the demonstrations they gave us here these are not a particularly ninja-like people, ergo, they went to a lot of effort to take whatever it was they took. And I can guarantee you that the item has nothing whatso _ever_  to do with kittens or puppies. In fact, given they were attempting to take over the Earth and get their hands on the Tesseract the first time round, I'll bet their current plans run along similar lines. So, yeah, I think that knowing  _and_  reclaiming whatever it is they took is a bloody excellent idea. So that's number one," the billionaire ranted, shaking his index finger at the screen for good measure. "Number two, is like my overly intelligent friend here mentioned, I don't particularly like the idea of having a bunch of ugly, lizard-like aliens prowling around god knows where, readying themselves to 'claim the Earth' or whatever it is that passes for alien downtime nowadays when we know scrap about them. So knowing where they're hiding themselves and how to get to them? Honestly? Fantastic idea. And even if  _we_  can't do anything about them, I'd bet my impressively dazzling good looks that Thor's people could not only kick their asses right into tomorrow, but would be rearing to go given the recent kidnapping of a member of their royal family even if he is massive dick. And that, conventionally, brings us to Loki." Stark held up three fingers, frowning momentarily as he realised he'd forgotten to raise the second finger at point two. He shook his head slightly before continuing brusquely. "Loki is a psychotic little shit who not only ruined my window, but also one of my all time favourite T-shirts. But torture,  _Nick_ , is  _not_  ok. And even if that's not what's going down, I for one would rather see the tantrum-throwing little brat holed up safe and sound with his own people, rather than on the loose with his loser mates who seem to have a thing for using the universe as their own personal playground." Stark broke off abruptly, allowing his raised voice to fall heavily on the stunned silence as heglared at Fury.

Slowly, with a face that was as incomprehensible as a scientist in the throes of a caffeine rush, Fury placed his hands in his lap and drummed his fingers. He regarded Stark silently for a moment, before saying, calmly, "Alright. You may find out what they took, but  _no_  more. I want to be sure that running after these creatures, or Loki, is worth the risk before committing to what is likely to be a terrible course of action."

Stark's face went red, but before he could unleash another scathing stream of consciousness in the direction of the spy, Banner pushed his way in front of the billionaire. "Great. That's great," he replied. His voice was clipped, terse. "But if we're going to have a chance in hell of finding anything, we still need that stuff."

Fury barked a sarcastic laugh. "That 'stuff', as you put it, is highly dangerous and under top clearance lock down. You don't seriously expect me to just give you the sceptre and the portal opener do you?"

Banner gave him a blank look. "Yes."

"You must be joking?" Fury looked at the scientist incredulously. "I'm not giving you two access to what are arguably the most destructive weapons the Earth currently has in its possession. Besides, S.H.I.E.L.D scientists haven't finished examining them yet."

Now it was Stark's turn laugh derisively. "What, you mean the department you staffed with college graduates? I could train monkeys that'd be better in thermonuclear physics."

"The answer is no."

"Well then I suppose we won't be able to track the item then," Banner replied casually, giving Fury a small smile. He turned to Stark. "Would you like to inform Thor, or shall I?"

The billionaire raised his eyebrows in mock concern. "Maybe it would be better if we did it together. As a group. Suited up. Jarvis?" he called out then.

"Yes, sir?"

"Could you please give me the current coordinates of one, Nick Fury?"

"Of course, sir. The director of S.H.I.E.L.D is currently stationed on the Helicarrier, which is at coordinates twenty-eight degrees fifty-one minutes and fifty point one seconds north, seventy-nine degrees thirty-two minutes and twenty-seven point six seconds west. Current elevation is thirty-five thousand feet."

If the spy was unsettled by the obvious ease with which Stark was able to pinpoint his whereabouts he certainly didn't show it. Instead he said, his tone very much not amused, "if you think to threaten me, Stark, let me inform you that it will not work."

"No, no. Not threaten," Stark responded lightly. "We're merely going to inform our pal Thor, the Norse god of thunder, that we can't help him find his little brother because S.H.I.E.L.D is withholding the necessary equipment. And then we're going to let  _him_  threaten you."

The director's face turned stony. He flicked his good eye across to Banner, who just shrugged in agreement.

"Why exactly do you need them?"

Stark gave him a wicked smile. "I'm  _so_  glad you asked. You see, the sceptre gives off a very specific frequency of gamma radiation, or at least it did whilst the Tesseract was around. The Chitauri gave off exactly the same frequency, up until the portal was closed. Now, the sceptre was used to close the portal, which is very interesting, because it means that in some way this very specific gamma wave interacts with these aliens on a very basic level of function. Now," he said, his voice rising in excitement as he turned away from the director and motioned a hand at the seemingly nonsensical board behind him, "if you have a look at the actual amount of energy given off when the portal was shut down, it actually isn't very much, like literally on the order of thirteen point six electronvolts, which is seriously so elegant because that just  _happens_  to be the  _very same energy_ required to ionise atomic hydrogen! So, allowing for a few relatively valid assumptions, one can then back calculate-"

"Stark. English."

The billionaire went silent mid-sentence, looking all too much like a kid who'd just had his candy stolen right as he was about to put it in his mouth. He gave the director a look that spoke volumes, and said, bluntly, "We need the sceptre to trace the gamma signals from the Chitauri, the portal to amplify them, and the satellites to pinpoint the ground position."

Fury looked at Banner.

"Basically, yeah."

"Surely there must be another way that you can-"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I entirely forgot that I'm a genius! I never even  _considered_  that there might be another way," Stark retorted sarcastically.

The spy gave him a dark look. "Alright. Fine. You may  _borrow_  the items, but only on the condition that you will in  _no_  way attempt to locate or access the Chitauri until  _after_  I give authorisation, or I will shut you down so fast your heads will still be spinning from the impact into next year. Also, any and  _all_  discoveries you make with regards to the weapons you are to report immediately to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Deal," Banner responded.

Fury didn't bother to say anything further, merely grunted in irritation and terminated the call.

Stark turned to his team mate and stared at him.

The doctor blinked timidly. "Coffee?"

"'Deal? Seriously big guy? ' _Deal_ '!?" The billionaire's voice rose an octave.

Banner looked over his shoulder mildly as he grabbed the empty coffee pot. "Sure, for now. In spirit, at least, I suppose." Turning back to the task of clumsily spooning coffee grounds, he continued, "but you know, equations are complex... things overlap and suddenly 'whoops! We accidentally also located our cuddly alien friends in the midst of everything else. Oh well, c'est la vie!' You know how it is."

Stark grinned. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Banner gave a short chuckle, the sound muffled by the wallhe was facing.

"Other than your very fetching green rage monster, of course."

"Oh, of course." Banner turned back to Tony holding two steaming mugs of coffee.

Tony accepted the cup gratefully, his eyes sparkling as a grin tugged at his lips. "So... why green exactly? You know, I've never thought to ask."

"I've honestly never thought about it."

"Really?! But appearance is everything, darling! It is a very fetching colour on you, you know."

"I think you've made a mistake here-" Bruce said, shifting uncomfortably under Tony's insistent questioning.

" _What!?_  I never-" The genius stopped abruptly as he surveyed the messy board with a scrutinising eye. "Well shit Sherlock. Give me that marker."

* * *

Steve looked up with some concern as the smell of burning invaded his nose. Frowning, he rose from the table and walked a few steps towards the kitchen where Thor was currently attempting to toast his seventeenth waffle for the day. He arrived at the entrance just in time to witness the God of Lightening plunge a knife into the currently live toaster.

"Thor! NO!" Steve yelled, leaping forward with an arm outstretched.

There was a loud bang and a flash of bright light as a blinding current of electricity stabbed its way out of the abused toaster and into Thor's fist. Steve watched, dumfounded, as the small wave of white lightening then proceeded to sputter its way over the god's body and disappear into the hammer which hung loosely at his belt.

All of the lights went out.

There was silence for a moment, before, "this infernal contraption insists on taking my food from me!"

Steve rubbed his forehead. "Thor, it pops up automatically when it's done. Don't you remember? I showed you before... ten minutes ago... after you broke the last toaster?"

"Oh. Yes. You did." Thor put the blackened knife on the counter top and sighed, his shoulders slumping. "My apologies friend Steve, it would appear that I am somewhat distracted at the moment. I will endeavour to attend your instruction more attentively next time."

Steve gave the god a sympathetic smile. "Hey, don't worry about it. It's perfectly-"

"Mr. Stark has requested that Mr. Odinson be informed he is presently on his way up from the lab, and that if he finds Mr. Odinson still in his kitchen when he arrives he will give Mr. Odinson the honour of becoming his new toaster," Jarvis's matter-of-fact voice cut over the soldier unexpectedly.

Thor started slightly, still not entirely comfortable with the concept of the disembodied voice, and then frowned in confused indignation.

Steve, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow at Jarvis's announcement and walked over to the large a warm hand on the god's shoulder, he said, "Look, things are bad at the moment. I get it, I do. Why don't we go out for a bit? It probably won't take your mind of things completely but it might help distract you somewhat. And protect Tony's stuff," he added, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Thor looked at the soldier, his frown slowly slipping from his face as his bright blue eyes found the floor. Looking defeated, he nodded. "Yes, you are right. I have allowed myself to remain stationary for too long. A jaunt outside these walls will likely do me well. Mayhap I can commission the construction of another of these... cooking contraptions for the son of Stark. Although how the lightening is forced to remain inside the metal case I know not."

"Yeah, we can just buy one buddy." Steve responded, leading the Thunderer from the kitchen briskly, determined to avoid bumping into an irate Tony on the way out.

'May you live in interesting times' aptly described the situation Steve found himself in when taking Thor outto experience his first shopping mall. Although, if the solider had been forced to admit it, even between trying to convince the Asgardian that bartering was no longer used and that it really wasn't ok to test the breakability of the 'vendor's wares' before choosing to purchase them, the entire experience really had been quite entertaining.

After a few false starts and more than a couple of hasty apologies - not to mention quick exits - they finally managed to buy a toaster that even a respectable playboy scientist would approve of, and settled down to reward themselves with a well earned meal in one of the many nearby cafes.

"So, Thor," Steve watched the god efficiently devour a side of steak that was bigger than the soldier's ownhead. "Tell me about your brother."

Thor froze mid chew. Swallowing the chunk of meatwhole he looked at Steve quizzically, a strange sort of hope hovering over his face. "You wish to know about Loki?"

"Sure."

"Well," he began, slowly wiping his mouth with a napkin, "he is much more intelligent than I, and his wit is much sharper also. He can speak most any language, and knows things about creatures I've not even heard of. He is subtle and quick, and has a will that could break stone - sometimes he is so stubborn I could throttle him." As he spoke, Thor's cerulean eyes danced with a light that Steve had never seen before, and an affectionate smile played upon his lips. "He is always there to pull me from the arms of trouble, or prevent me from jumping headlong into it, and will stand by my side even when it costs him ill. He is... a distinguished warrior, a good brother, and a good son." The Thunderer looked away from his friend then, his eyes suddenly becoming glassy with unshed tears.

Steve frowned slightly. "So, what happened then?" he asked as gently as possible. "I mean, with the invasion and the violence... he doesn't seem to be the person you describe at all."

The god looked back at Steve, distress replacing the joy that had just recently occupied his gaze. He wiped away a few stray tears that had found their way down his cheeks. "No... I know. I... do not know... honestly, friend Steve. I have been thinking it over and over in my mind these few days past, but I truly cannot begin to fathom the change in him. I just... I do not understand what has happened..." The God of Thunder paused, and Steve waited patiently until he said, voice low and troubled, "but I fear it must have been something truly awful, and honestly I can only imagine the worst."

Steve looked at the being sitting - shoulders slumped - before him, and it struck him how alone the god must feel. Stuck on a different planet with people he'd basically just met, trying desperately to convince them that his brother was worth saving, all the while knowing what the group must think of his sibling whilst having to deal with his own deep fears for his brother's safety without the support of anyone. Surprising even himself, Steve suddenly reached out a hand and grasped Thor's tightly. "We'll find him, Thor. I promise, we will do everything in our power to find your brother."

Thor raised his head and looked at him as if all his Christmases had come at once. "Truly, friend Steve? Honestly, I understand your people's quarrel with my brother, but if you would do this for me I swear that I will be forever in your debt."

Steve smiled, although it was tight around the edges as his brain caught up with his mouth and he inwardly cursed himself for making rash promises. Instead he said, "sure, Thor, for you. We'll do it for you."

More than a few customers looked up from their meals then as the god near jumped from his seat to pull Steve into a crushing embrace. The salt and pepper went flying and Steve's coffee got knocked over, black liquid spreading itself over the table's surface. Steve found himself winded as the large Asgardian slapped him on the back a couple of times.

When Thor retook his seat he wiped his eyes with one large thumb, smiling in elation. "I will repay you this kindness, I swear it upon my honour."

Steve raised his eyebrows, looking up from his attempt to mop up the coffee with a handful of thin napkins. "You don't have to do that, really. You're already helping us protect ourselves against the Chitauri by getting that... whatever it is back. That's more than enough."

Thor smiled warmly. "That is not now it works with my people, son of Rogers. You have pledged your aid to a member of my family and I am honour bound to repay that debt in kind. And so I shall."

"Oh. Right then." Steve went quiet, giving his attention instead to the soaking napkins in his hand, and the equally wet table. How he was going to explain this latest commitment to the rest of the team, he wasn't entirely sure. He was sure of one thing though. A promise had been made, and he was sure as hell going to see it through.

They took a short cut back to the tower, wanting to avoid the crass boisterousness of the late night revellers in that part of town. The streets and back alleys were dark and damp here, often smelling of rotten food and other things best not thought of. Most of the lamps were either out or flickered dimly, casting gloomy shadows across the bitumen, giving the appearance of hands stretching out from the unknown. A cold wind blustered intermittently around the narrow lane ways and in spite of himself, Steve shivered.

It was Thor who tensed first, abruptly stopping mid stride and signalling for Steve to be still. The soldier looked back at the god, then frowning cast his eyes about him, straining his hearing into the silence. As far as he could tell the small dark alley was completed empty of anyone but the two of them.

Then he heard it. Just on the edge of perception. A quiet fluttering that somehow managed to fill the quiet with a black malevolence and the sharp promise of violence.

Steve looked at Thor, alarmed. They had not thought to bring weapons; Thor had even left Mjölnir back at the tower.

Edging towards the brick wall that lined the narrow space, aware of the potential advantage of keeping something at his back, Steve reached down slowly and grabbed up one of the large silver dustbin lids from where it perched precariously over a rotting heap. Looking back at Thor, who was by now gripping the plastic bag which held the new toaster with the same determination he usually reserved for his hammer, Steve suddenly noticed the sharp tension that had fallen over the area. The silence was almost deafening as the shadows deepened, seeming to open cracks into other worlds. A dread settled itself in his stomach; his hair stood on end.

Thor must have felt the change in atmosphere too because he suddenly shouted, his voice fierce and loud, "Show yourself, malevolent sprite! Face us! Bring yourself out of the shadows from where you cower!"

There was a moment of silence so intense that Steve thought he might suffocate. Then, without warning there was an explosion of sound and movement. An inky darkness folded around them abruptly, and Steve cried out in panic as he felt something icy wrap itself over his skin, as if the personification of horror had just spilled over his body. The fluttering became a rhythmic beating - the sound of large wings that screamed with the sounds of battle and blood and death. It descended upon the two rapidly.

The soldier swung his flimsy makeshift shield in a desperate attempt to defend himself, but without a solid assailant to target all he achieved was to flail uselessly at the air. The all consuming blackness rolled over them in waves, pressing down upon the two until Steve fought to breath. Reaching with claws it seemed to dig into his flesh, delivering despair, cold terror, and the promise of death. Blinded, he stumbled to where he thought he had last seen Thor, only to drop and roll to the side suddenly as the sound of metal slicing through air accelerated towards his head. A gust of wind brushed his cheek and his heart pounded at how close the weapon had come. In one fluid, practiced movement he rolled twice and then, coming to his knees lifted the trash can lid in expectation. He was rewarded for his attentiveness when the blade fell again, this time striking the lid and splitting it clean in two. Using the momentum, the solider pushed the trajectory of the sword to the sideand kicked out, attempting to fell his unseen assailant. His foot connected squarely with something solid, but the creature simply changed its stance and metal began to cut through the air once more. As the pitch darkness tried to claw its way into him, its touch freezing and filling him with cold dread, Captain America brought up his arms up defensively, bracing for the inevitable blow. He heard a scuffle and a terrifying roar in that moment, and a blinding flash of white light forced him to turn his head away.

There was a solid sounding crunch.

Something screeched with an unearthly voice, followed by the sound of frantic fluttering.

Then silence. Normal silence.

Steve looked up, his eyes wide. The God of Thunder stood a few feet away, blood dripping steadily from his head streaming stains down his face. There were a set of large gashes in his side - the T shirt he was wearing ripped to pieces - as if made by a feral cat the size of a horse. His feet were planted and he brandished the bag, which now contained a malformed lump that Steve swore used to be a toaster, as if it were a deadly weapon. Steve didn't doubt that it was.

The god looked around him warily for a moment before walking forward and reaching out a hand to his friend.

Steve took it gratefully, and allowed himself to be helped up. Looking around he saw that the alley had returned to its normal, rather comforting gloominess - the sort born of night time and poorly maintained street lamps. He looked at Thor. "What the hell was that?"

The Thunder god frowned darkly. "I know not with any certainty. I did not manage to catch sight of the creatures, but I-"

"You what?"

Thor's frown deepened. "There are creatures from my home, creatures which serve the All-Father in battle,who have wings. They are called the Valkyrie. They choose the souls of those who are to die, and then select amongst half of the dead and bring them to Valhalla. But they are no foe to me."

It was Steve's turn to frown. "Is it possible that some of them could have-"

The quiet sound of metal scraping on concrete instantly silenced the soldier. Exchanging a brief glance, the two moved quickly and quietly to the source of the noise. Approaching a pile of rubbish bins, the heap surrounded by discarded and rotting wooden boxes and rancid food scraps, the Captain balled his hands into fists whilst Thor once more raised the plastic shopping bag. Peering cautiously over the fetid heap, the sight that greeted them was not what they expected.

It was lanky, dishevelled and dirty. It's openly terrified face was partially hidden behind greasy, tangled hair, and it was currently pressing itself firmly into the grubby wall that it was crouching against.

Steve blinked in surprise. It took him a moment to register the sight, but then he slowly put his hand on Thor's arm, quietly motioning for him to lower the toaster-cum-cudgle. Carefully, holding out his empty hands and moving deliberately so as not to frighten the shaking, wide eyed creature, Steve crouched down until he was at the same level.

"Hey, hey, it's ok. We're not going to hurt you, alright?" he said as gently as possible.

The creature flinched at his words, scrambling back slightly as it attempted to crumple itself as far back into the space as possible.

The soldier held his hands out further to demonstrate his peaceful intentions. "Whoa, it's fine. It's fine. Noone's gonna hurt you," he repeated a little more firmly. As he spoke he examined the person, taking in the bewildered fright, the oversized and filthy shirt that hung off it like a tent, the way its bones seemed to jut out of its skin as if it had never seen a meal... and then as it shifted he noted with more than a little embarrassment the way the shirt clung lightly to the outline of a small, firm breast. A girl, then.

Steve blushed.

"She is injured." The god's low rumble broke the captain's thoughts.

Steve frowned slightly as he cast his eyes again over the trembling girl, and noted with no small amount of concern an enormous gash that trailed its way down her right leg, mostly hidden from view by the way she was positioned. A gradually increasing pool of blood was starting to colour the ground beneath her.

Very slowly the soldier pushed himself forward towards the girl. "You should let me take a look at that, it looks nasty," he said kindly, pointing at her wounded leg. As he inched his way past the putrid rubbish she didn't once take her large eyes off him. Nor did she move and he hoped it to be a sign that she was willing to extend him her trust. "I'm just gonna look, ok? I won't touch, I'll only-  _damn_!" Steve cursed as the girl suddenly exploded from her huddled spot and, stumbling initially, ran from them, plunging herself deeper into the ally.

Thor gave chase immediately.

Steve followed close behind and together they pursued her into an abandoned building that stood derelict and foreboding in the dim street light. She was surprisingly fast in spite of her injury, which was now leaving a disturbingly bright and steady trail of blood as she ran. The interior of the building was gloomy, with scant light from the street filtering in through the dirt encrusted windows. The floor was concrete, and the cold bite of the night air seemed to wrap itself around the walls. There were discarded boxes and glass bottles strewn over the dusty floor, and a rather unsafe looking set of wooden stairs leading up to the roof sagged against the distant wall.

Thor looked around questioningly. Steve pointed to the trail of blood that led over to the decomposing stair case.

"The roof," the god said, and Steve nodded as they made their way to the suspect structure that would have to bear their ascent.

As they reached the bottom, something caught the corner of Steve's eye and he turned around. In the corner, tucked away under the wooden structure, was a pile of frayed and filthy rags that appeared to form something akin to a bed. Just before the Thunderer could place his large foot upon the first creaky plank, the captain grabbed his arm, pointing wordlessly at the pile.

The god blinked. "She sleeps here?"

"It would appear that way."

They both paused for a moment and then Steve said, quietly, "Thor, how sure are you that those creatures were after  _us_?"

Thor looked at him, eyes widening in realisation.

Without any further hesitation the two Avengers ran full-tilt up the stairs, not pausing as a number of the rotten steps broke and splintered behind them.

They felt it before they saw it. The icy, terrifying blackness, twisting its way across the expanse of the roof, rolling down towards them as they breached the landing at the top of the stairs and slammed open the door with so much force it near exploded off its hinges.

The darkness enveloped them completely as they ran out onto the warehouse's summit, and once more Steve could feel the horror wrapping itself around him like some tentacled creature from beyond the veil. Thor roared from in front of him as the rhythmic beating of large, fierce wings spilled gusts of wind through the bottomless darkness. Ducking as the something unseen and large moved quickly through the air above him, Steve dropped into a crouch, searching blindly in an attempt to feel his way to finding the girl.

A sudden scream from his left had him up and running instantly. There was something about the sound, made in abject terror, that was primal and pure... something he couldn't quite place... but it made him want to move faster than he ever had before. Fighting the urge to scream himself as icy tendrils tried to plunge into him, wrapping themselves about his body, Steve raced like lightening toward the screams and ploughed headlong into something heavy and solid and made of stone.

Thor grunted as he went down.

"The girl! Get the girl!" Steve yelled urgently, disentangling himself from the Asgardian as the sound of metal being unsheathed rang through the stifling air.

Thor pulled himself free and leapt forward towards the sound of the screaming girl. Scrambling to his feet Steve closed his eyes and prayed fervently that his hearing was as good as he thought, closed his right fist tightly, and spinning sharply swung it through the air towards the sound of heavily beating wings. He was rewarded when his fist impactedresoundingly with something dense and hard.

Thor pushed through the groping, invasive darkness that spun around him. The girl was somewhere in front of him but the rhythmic sound of those terrifying wings stood between them. There was the sudden movement of metal through air in the girl's direction. The Thunderer yelled and jumping forward reflexively swung his toaster-in-a-bag up to meet the deadly blow. There was the ringing sound of metal screaming on metal, and Thor roared as he set his shoulder and pushed into the foul creature as hard as he could. There was a low hiss in his ear that made his skin go cold, then suddenly the being was gone and he stumbled forward falling heavily on his side.

The screaming stopped, and Thor could hear the sound of the mortal's feet as she ran from the fray.

The Thunderer cursed.

Rising once more from the floor that seemed to writhe under him he gave chase, catching her easily despite the blindness brought by the dark. Grabbing her, his arms wrapping easily around her slight frame, he lifted her from the ground. The mortal made a terrified sound, kicking and biting at him ineffectively. Ignoring her thrashing the Thunderer ducked protectively over her suddenly, as a burst of wind carried on the ominous sound of beating wings descended rapidly upon them. Freeing his right arm he swung the appliance laden shopping bag with as much force as he could muster, missing widely as the creature ploughed heavily into his back. The god went tumbling, losing his grip on the mortal as their foe wrenched her from his grasp.

At that moment the captain bellowed incomprehensibly and there was a sickening crunch that echoed out over the roof top.

The God of Lightening felt his blood start to rise in temperature as his anger rose like a serpent from within. Roaring his defiance, drowning out the sounds of the mortal who had started to scream again, he rotated the bag that contained the metal contraption faster and faster in his tightly fisted hand. Then, drawing powerfully on the currents of energy he could feel tingling in the air about him he pulled, using a massive surge of will to gather them into the a terrifying sound, he unleashed the explosive energy towards the abhorrent creature of darkness. The atmosphere blazed a blinding white, the air around him catching on fire as jagged lightening arced its way towards the hostile fiend. The ensuing blast forced even the god to turn his face away, glimpsing only an array of feathers as a wave of pressure exploded outwards, knocking him darkness lifted somewhat and the Thunderer looked back just in time to witness the mortal being thrown clear of the roof.

Yelling, Thor hurled himself at the edge, launching himself over the side, one large arm grasping firmly to the railing whilst catching the girl by her hand mid fall. The god gasped, a barrage of images suddenly invading the tapestry of his mind as their skin met.

_A barren, broken rock, circling a distant cold start, deprived of an atmosphere..._

_A twisting mess of dim rooms and dark passages..._

_A room he knew well... Dried herbs and desiccated petals scattered over the ruined floor... Clay bowls shattered, remnants spread wide... A small table upturned haphazardly. Loki struggling wildly in the arms of a large Chitauri who held him tight, suffocating him with a large hand as he was dragged bodily through a portal..._

_His brother, fury in caught in the tension of his back as he knelt, prostrate, before a large, vicious looking Chitauri..._

_A magnificent hall with a stunning construct of sorcery containing portals to all of the Nine Realms and Loki, undoing them one by one, his hands and arms burnt raw... Then shackled, muzzled and injured as he vomited violently into a cruel looking gag, his hands broken and bloody..._

Thor jerked back as the visions dissipated, and he stared in shock at the mortal girl who hung from the roof, grasping his hand desperately, her eyes terrified and pleading. He shook himself and lifted her easily, up and over the roof's edge, steadying her with his other large hand when she swayed slightly on impact with the ground.

The air had cleared now and the sinister darkness had evaporated, along with their assailants. Thor looked around, suddenly fearful for his friend. He sighed with no small amount of relief when his eyes settled upon the captain, who was currently pulling himself up awkwardly from the floor, somewhat unsteady on his feet and looking more than a little worse for wear. Rogers looked visibly relieved when he looked up and saw Thor. Then his eyes went wide.

"Thor!" he cried out.

Thor turned just in time to catch the mortal as she lost consciousness, slumping limply in his arms. Looking down, he was alarmed to see blood still spilling from the wound on her leg. Setting her down carefully, he rapidly pulled his already ripped shirt off and began tearing it into strips. Steve rushed over and together they quickly stemmed the flow of blood with the application of a crude yet efficient tourniquet.

When done, the captain sat back on his heels and carded his hand through his blonde hair, leaving it flecked with red. He look wearily at Thor, "we should take her to a hospital."

The god looked startled for a moment, before frowning, his azure eyes becoming determined, "no, we shall take her back to the tower."

"What? Why?" Steve asked perplexed.

"Because when I caught her - when she fell from the roof - I saw visions of my brother," he replied, his voice numb. "I think she showed me where he is... and what is being done to him."

Steve stared at the Thunderer, not sure of what to say. Instead, he pursed his lips and got up, his head spinning slightly. "I think you should carry her," he admitted.

Thor nodded, and, picking up the fragile girl the two of them began to make their way back to the tower.


	17. Chapter 17

"Thor, I distinctly remember saying 'no visitors'!" Tony snapped from where he sat lolling, feet up on one of the work benches, chair tilted back, bowl of popcorn held aloft in one hand. Doing a double take as the God of Thunder pushed bodily through the lab's door, the captain following close behind, Tony was on his feet in an instant. "I don't remember ordering a side of unconscious beggar with my pizza," he commented, eyes widening as he took in the blood and injuries upon his team mates.

Ignoring the billionaire, Thor pushed forward briskly, demeanor hard with concern. He approached the nearest table and without regard for what lay upon it brusquely swept it clear, laying the pale girl upon its cold surface.

"Oh, that's nice. Would you like to ruin everything else in my workshop while you're at it? Why don't you bleed on my floor a bit more?" Tony asked sardonically, though his tone was more curious than biting.

Steve frowned. "Tony", he admonished.

Continuing to ignore the billionaire, Thor turned to Banner who was already standing over the limp figure laid out upon the table. "We discovered the female in an alley upon our journey back to the tower," the god said tensely. "She was attacked. Are you able to help her?"

Bruce pursed his lips, clumsily pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand as he briefly examined the girl. After a moment, he said, "She's lost a lot of blood. Get her upstairs to the medical bay. Now." There was a sense of authoritative urgency to his manner that was not lost on the group.

Without a word, Thor lifted the girl and followed the doctor up the stairs.

"Place her there," Banner pointed to a sterile looking gurney. "No- lie her on her back, please."

The god complied then hung back awkwardly for a moment as the doctor moved quickly about his unconscious patient.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Steve questioned quietly, trying not intrude upon Banner's concentration.

"Yeah, like bring you a hose," Tony supplied loudly, gesturing at the grubby state of the girl.

Banner frowned slightly. Not looking up from his current activity he said, "a bowl of warm water will suffice, thank you."

"I think you're going to need more than one bowl there," the billionaire retorted.

Banner did look up then. "Then get me more than one. Tony."

When Stark didn't move Steve pulled his eyes from the blood soaked girl. "Tony," he said, pointedly.

Tony smirked mildly as he moved closer, peering at the slip of a girl lying supine upon the bed. "I don't think I could possibly carry  _that_  much water. Get Thor to do it. He has big arms."

The Thunderer started from whatever reverie he was lost in and looked up, his forehead creasing. "I will fetch water if you require it," he offered, the mild slight obviously lost upon him.

"Thank you, Thor," Banner replied, swatting at Tony's hand as the scientist reached out to twitch away the girl's dirty shirt from her leg wound. "If you want to do something useful, Tony, why don't you squeeze that bag there?" The doctor indicated to a bag of fluids he'd just hung as he swiftly finished connecting it to a drip in the girl's arm.

"Who said I wanted to do anything useful?" Tony replied, but Banner's grave countenance and his pressured movements were not lost upon the scientist, and even as the words left his lips he moved over to the bag specified and began doing as requested.

Banner went silent then, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked steadily to resuscitate the shocked girl, his only being words to thank Thor when he returned with five tubs of warm, soapy water. After what seemed like an age, the doctor seemed to release the tension in his face, looking relieved when he saw something change on the monitoring machines.

They stopped alarming after that.

Finally Banner looked up, appearing startled that the three men were still in the room. "Um... if you three could just... uh, wait outside please. I need to..." he indicated at the girl's exposed leg with the wave of a hand.

"Oh! Right. Yes. No problem," Steve stammered slightly.

"Hey! I was helping- I was very helpful, you know," Stark protested as the captain ushered him from the room, the Thunderer following close behind, still looking concerned. Banner closed the cubicle's curtains as they left.

It was some time later before Banner emerged, drying his hands on a towel. By now, all five of the Avengers had gathered in the antechamber outside the medical bay. Thor stood up expectantly.

Banner looked up, mildly surprised. "She'll be fine. She lost a lot of blood, but I've fixed the wound and given her some fluid and blood as replacement. I'm going to keep her asleep overnight and see how she is in the morning."

Thor looked relieved. So did Steve.

There was a moment's silence, then, "So, are you going to tell us what the hell happened?" Barton quipped from the corner where he sat, legs dangling over the arm of a large, soft chair.

Everyone looked at Steve.

The captain sighed. Despite having had a shower he looked exhausted, and large, purple bruises had begun to flower beneath his skin along the side of his face, neck, and arms. Shifting tenderly in his chair, he spoke. "Thor and I were making our way back to the tower when we were attacked by... well, to be honest, I'm not sure  _what_  we were attacked by. It became very dark...  _too_  dark, and cold and almost  _icy_ , and there was something awful around us, like a.. a presence that was also a.. a  _thing_. I never got to see it, but it -  _they_  - definitely had wings. And there were two-"

"How do you know it had wings if you never saw it?" Natasha queried.

"I could hear the... flapping." Steve shuddered.

"I saw one."

Everyone turned to look at Thor.

"Well, sort of," the Thunderer admitted.

"Sort of," Barton repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"At the finish of our second encounter, when I lit up the sky, I witnessed part of the wing of the creature I was assailing. It was made of feathers."

"Feathers?" Barton asked flatly.

"Verily."

"Are you saying that you were attacked by fucking angels?"

"I know not," Thor responded. "What are angels?"

The archer ignored him. Instead, he looked at Steve. "Seriously? Angels in America? That's what you're saying."

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but before he could voice an answer Stark laughed.

"Did you just do what I think you did?" the scientist inquired, amusement written on his face. When Barton just gave him a smug look Stark grinned at him in open appreciation. "Gimme a bit of love," he said as the two of them fist bumped.

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"What just happened?" Steve looked at Banner, who shrugged.

Stark looked back at Thor. "So, manly moments aside, you said twice." When the Thunderer gave him a blank look he explained. "You said that you fought these angels twice? What's the go with that?"

"Well perhaps if you let the captain finish instead of interrupting," Natasha admonished Stark, also casting a reproving glance in Barton's direction, "you might know why they had to fight these creatures twice."

The archer pulled a face as Stark made a snide retort.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, giving Stark an icy stare before turning to Steve. "Steve, please continue."

The captain, who had been watching the commotion with a tired expression, merely nodded and continued with the story. When he'd finished the group was silent for a moment.

Tony, unsurprisingly, was the first to speak. "Well shit."

The God of Thunder turned to the doctor, who by now had found a comfortable looking chair and was sprawled inelegantly in it. "Friend Banner. May I inquire as to whether you discovered anything about the girl during your healing of her?"

The doctor looked up, blinking as if he'd only just realised there were other people in the room. "Such as what?"

Thor shrugged. "I do not know," he admitted.

"How about whether she's actually human," Stark supplied. "Or, if she is, how old she is?" He paused for a second. "Is she a mutant, perhaps?"

Banner gave him a shrewd look.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Wait- what do you know?"

Banner's eyes shifted to the rest of the group who were now openly staring at him. He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh- well... I was curious, so...I did some bone testing. To see if I could figure out her age..."

"...and?"

Bruce shook his head, a bewildered expression crossing his face. "It's as if she doesn't  _have_  an age. Or... I mean... it's like she was  _just_  born, except she doesn't have an infant's body."

Surprisingly, Stark let the obvious comment slide and instead said, all curiosity, "what do you mean,  _exactly_?"

"Well.  _Exactly_. Other than her most recent injury, her body shows absolutely none of the normal signs of wear and tear. It's as if it's never been used at all. Examining her endocranial sutures and epiphysial fusion it would  _appear_  that she's around twenty three to twenty six, but it's like... they don't look like they actually  _grew_  to that point. They look more... it's as if..."

"They've always been that way," Tony supplied, his eyes narrowing.

"Mmm," Banner agreed.

Barton shifted in his seat. "So, what you're saying is that some angels attacked an apparently ageless, helpless girl who also just  _happened_  to show Thor images of his brother... while you were walking home?" Barton looked gave the group a pointed look.

"Clint," Natasha said, a slightly warning in her voice.

"What?!" he protested. "I'm just pointing out that it's all very convenient for... for his  _brother_ ," Clint near spat the last word as he tipped his head in Thor's direction. He took a controlled breath and then said, a little more steadily, "I just want to make sure that we've considered, as a group, that this may be part of a larger ruse, and that perhaps we should be just a little cautious about trusting whoever this girl is."

"Fine," the assassin responded, "fair enough. Point noted."

Clint scowled but didn't say anything else.

"Actually, I have a question." Tony looked at Thor.

"Yes?" the god responded

"How did you do the whole... lightning thingy with a toaster? My  _new_  toaster, I will remind you. I thought that was a hammer thing?"

"I simply harnessed the lightning held within its metal skin," the god rumbled.

The two scientists exchanged looks.

"Uh... Thor... toasters don't-" Banner broke off at the open expression on Thor's face. "You know what, never mind," he muttered.

The God of Thunder refused to vacate the medical bay overnight, instead opting to doze in one of the small couches, looking highly uncomfortable as he attempted to squeeze himself into its small confines. Banner had insisted on checking on him and the captain, despite their protests that they were fine, and seemed satisfied that Thor was already healing his wounds whilst Steve had a mild concussion but nothing more serious. The next morning the group trickled down gradually, with a mixture of curiosity, suspicion and concern to see whether the mystery girl had woken.

Banner stepped out of the complex, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"She's fine. She's just sleeping normally now," he said, addressing the group.

"Has she woken yet? Has she made mention of my brother?" Thor blurted, unable to still the burning question on his tongue.

The doctor looked at Thor. "Not yet, no," he replied gently. "I think it's best if we let her wake naturally, without having everyone in the room, so that we don't frighten her."

"I would like to be present at her bedside when she wakes."

Banner gave him a dubious look.

"He did save her life," Steve piped up, coming to Thor's defense. The god gave him a grateful look.

Banner sighed. "Alright. You may go in Thor. But only you. And don't wake her please, let her wake on her own. And don't start asking her a hundred questions as soon as she's awake, either. Let her get her bearings first."

"Of course. You have my word."

"I think that I should be allowed to-"

"No, Tony," Banner interrupted, turning to usher Thor into the room.

As the door to the medical bay closed once more, Stark screwing up his nose at the offhanded dismissal, Steve decided that now was probably as good a time as any to make the confession about his promise to Thor.

It did not go down well.

Eventually, Jarvis's voice cut over the din.

"Mr Banner would like to thank you all for waking his patient, but would now kindly request that you remain quiet as the noise is not assisting with the current situation."

Everyone in the antechamber went momentarily still, then burst, as one, into the medical bay proper. The scene that greeted them would have been comical had the doctor and god not been currently trying to calm a very agitated, wild looking creature who was presently backed into a corner, pushing forward a scalpel blade with shaking hands. She'd managed to dislodge her drip in her panic, and there was a trail of fresh blood splattered messily across the floor from the gurney to where she now crouched, back to the wall, twitching like a terrified bird.

"Would you like me to-?" Romanoff left the offer hanging.

Banner shook his head sharply once, never taking his eyes off his patient, keeping his hands where the frightened girl could see them.

Upon seeing the rest of the group the girl's eyes went wide, her still-grubby face turning a deathly shade of white. She held out the small blade more forcefully.

"Lentus abesto! Lentus abesto!"

The group collectively blinked.

"Est Licuit. Nemo vobis nocebit."

Everyone turned to stare at Natasha, who gave them a blank look in response.

"Uh... What just happened?" Stark asked.

Ignoring Tony and not taking his eyes off the girl, who was now regarding the assassin cautiously, Banner said, "Tell her we're not going to hurt her. That we're here to help."

"I just did," Natasha responded. "Ne paveatis. Nos volo te adjuvet. Vos es laedi. Placere posuit cultro descendit."

The girl eyed her warily.

"What are you say-" Steve began to whisper, but was abruptly silenced with a glare from the red head.

Stark rolled his eyes. "Geeze spangle pants. A bit more decorum? Please?"

It was the Thunderer who shot a frown in the billionaire's direction this time.

If Tony was going to make a retort, it was cut short as the girl chose that moment to speak. "Qui estis? Quid tibi vis mecum?" She still held the small scalpel, but now looked at the group with an expression that was slightly more wary than frightened.

"His duobus obturaverunt impetum in vos," the assassin responded, her voice steady and quiet as she indicated to Thor and Steve. "Tu factus laesae. Adduxerunt te hic tractare vulnera tua. Nihil amplius. Vos estis in nullum periculum."

The trembling girl tilted her head, frowning slightly as she listened to Natasha's words. She looked down at her leg then, quickly examining the neatly bandaged wound, only taking her eyes off the surrounding group for a moment. The stick-thin creature pursed her lips and said, "Quam can ego exsisto certus vos es non per lemma?"

"Te fore mortuus."

The girl stared at her. Slowly, she placed the scalpel blade on the tiled floor, but kept it close enough that she could pick it up in a hurry if required.

The entire room seemed to release a breath it didn't even know it had been holding.

There were a few moments of tense silence until Thor rumbled, "She appears to be cold."

This got the girl's attention. She looked at the Thunderer suddenly, as if she had not noticed him prior to this moment, and stared, face full of curiosity. The god watched her back. Eventually, she furrowed her brow, as if trying to dredge up a memory, and then her eyes cleared and she tilted her head. "Vos obturaverunt mea fortuna."

"She says that you were the one who stopped her fall," Natasha supplied as Thor raised his eyebrows in question.

The Thunderer smiled at the girl, and nodded. "Yes, that is correct my Lady."

Natasha translated.

The girl's face broke into a wide, beautiful smile then. She pushed herself up unsteadily from her half crouch against the wall. Banner and Thor carefully followed suit. Leaning against the wall for support, the creature made her way over to the god. Standing in front of him, it was a sharp juxtaposition to see her small frame beside his as he towered over her. Nonetheless, she commanded his complete attention as she peered intently at his face, reaching up to touch his cheek with a dirty hand as if to make sure he were real. Then she ginned again, and the Thunderer found himself smiling back.

"Tibi gratias ago pro salvares me."

"She says thank you for saving her life," Natasha said, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"Oooo, too bad. You missed out buddy!" Stark taunted, looking at Steve with a smirk.

The soldier rolled his eyes.

The injured creature looked up at Stark's words, her face questioning.

"Omittas eum. Hes morionem," Natasha told her.

The billionaire snapped his gaze to the assassin. "What did you just say?"

She smiled sweetly. "Nothing."

"Look, could you please-" Banner cut in suddenly, his tone annoyed. He took a deep breath. "Natasha. Could you please tell her that I would like her to come over here? That I need to have a look at her? I want to make sure that wound hasn't opened up."

The assassin obliged. The wild girl frowned slightly and then gave Banner a suspicious look, backing away slightly, placing Thor between herself and the doctor.

Stark smirked.

"It's alright; I'm not going to hurt you. I'll just look, okay?" Banner said gently.

Thor turned to face her. "There is nothing here for you to fear, child. I shall accompany you."

The wild creature looked toward her translator, Natasha once more providing the words meanings.

The girl still looked hesitant, but nonetheless followed Thor as he gently led her to where the doctor was waiting. Banner turned around and gave the group a pointed look. Barton and Steve took the hint and turned to leave.

"You too, Tony." Banner's tone was firm.

"What about talk-a-lot over here?" he protested.

"Natasha needs to translate. You don't. You can come back later."

The assassin gave Tony a smug look, which was returned with an eye roll. The billionaire gave the girl one last curious look before turning and leaving.


End file.
